


Interlude ~Precious Moments~

by Huehxolotl



Series: The Reflection That Almost Was [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst, F/F, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2020-02-15 20:29:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 48,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18676867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huehxolotl/pseuds/Huehxolotl
Summary: Scenes in no particular order from the Reflection That Never Was series. Scenes and ideas that didn't make it to the main chapters, but I love too much to not write down somewhere. They're from all kinds of POVs, not just our adorable Hext-Rhul family!





	1. 1-10

**1\. Introduction**

Yda Hext is, at a glance, an older, more suspicious, more rugged version of Lyse. Really, it’s everything she expects after Y’mhitra’s description of the woman.

Were she any other person, she might consider a proper greeting. Not because she’s intimidated by the intensity on Yda’s eyes, or the battle-hardened wariness in her posture, but because this is Y’mhitra and Lyse’s family. Unfortunately for Yda, she is _not_ any other person.

Nodding her head to Lyse, who is currently engrossed in training with Y’shtola and has only spared a quick greeting for her sister, she says wryly, “She can gush about you for bells, but it’s clear you’re not the favorite.”

Yda stiffens, giving the Miqo’te in question a poisonous glare that turns into a grimace, then a resigned huff. “I assume you’re Hahette? You’re taller than I thought. How many times have you accidentally stepped on my baby sister?”

“I’M NOT SHORT! I’m almost as tall as Shtola!” Lyse yells from the kitchen.

“Hello to you too! Brat! And _she’s_ short too!”

“Argh! Yda! I’m trying to concentrate!”

“We can bribe Mhitra into forcing her to be your training dummy,” she hears Y’shtola sneer.

“I’m fine and not all injured from my _very dangerous mission_ , thanks for asking!”

Y’mhitra peers through the doorway of the study, sighs harshly, and shakes her head. She gets the impression that this is hardly the first time she has seen this particular act play out. “Hush, all of you. Take your training outside. Yda, join them. Hahette needs space to make us dinner.”

The Hext sisters both groan theatrically, Yda complaining about being put to work right when she gets home while Y’shtola urges Lyse to clear up their mess and gather Vochstein.

“We have a personal cook now?” Looking her over, Yda takes one look at the dismay on her face and bursts out in laughter. “An unwilling one, it seems. You let me know when dinner is ready,” she snickers unapologetically.

“Why do I put up with this, again?” she asks under her breath. More and more, she misses traveling, where there are no short, sharp-eyed Miqo’te ordering her around like a, a _housewife_.

“Why don't we go get sweetbread for dessert? Since everyone is home today! What kind do you want? Tes gives me a discount!” the kid declares proudly, hands on her hip and grinning widely. How do teenagers have so much energy? She should have made training harder for the girl.

Y’shtola shakes her head. “ _We_ aren’t going anywhere if you insist on blocking my path,” she snarks, pushing Lyse forward gently.

“Anything with caramel, please and thank you.”

“If you’re not going to train, _I’m_ going to take a bath.”

“You certainly need one.”

“You got something to say, Rhul?”

“I believe I did.”

“Shtolaaaa. Come on! Food!”

Well. They aren’t the _worst_ people to spend her time with. At least she gets free food out of it.

**2\. Love**

“Physically, there’s nothing wrong with her. Aetherically...I cannot say. She certainly is not _normal_ anymore, and if we take your word that her aether levels are not any stronger or weaker than her injuries allow, then “tainted” may be the only prognosis we can settle upon until such time that she awakens.”

 _If_ she awakens, is what Wawakuma does not say. He hears it nonetheless, for the grief and concern is carved into his expression, into his posture. The Archon, he knows, has worked with Lyse Hext and her free company a handful of times since the mission into Gyr Abania last year, and had apparently taken a liking to the girl. He had secured Lyse a room within the new Flames barracks before they even arrived in Ul’dah, and had all but shoved him out of the way in order to examine her.

A low whistle and a series of anxious chirps sound from the griffin familiar, and Wawakuma shakes himself out of his stupor. “Not to worry,” he says softly, “You share her aether _and_ the taint. There is more than a little hope that she will awaken. It does not seem dangerous, she merely needs time to adjust and recover.”

Vochstein nods and chirps sadly, curling further into Lyse’s side.

“It’s unusual,” Wawakuma admits when they have left the room. “Vochstein, I mean. He was smart before, as expected of a familiar spelled by _the_ Archon Matoya. He was highly advanced for his young age. This new understanding, this new level of _emotion_ in him, however, is...borderline human. I do hope Y’shtola arrives soon.”

Wawakuma does not have to wait long. Y’shtola is there are the end of the sennight.

“Thank you for finding her, Thancred.”

He smiles, but it’s a difficult thing. How can he appear his usual self, when his friend’s appearance is so sickly? Limsa Lominsa had been decimated by Bahamut’s fury, and he had expected a certain level of exhaustion, but _this_? He almost wonders how she is standing at all, for how pale she is. “There is no need for thanks, Y’shtola. Truly.”

Wawakuma visibly restrains himself from pulling their comrade aside for a check up herself, but he reluctantly allows her private time with Lyse and Vochstein. They loiter outside the door, listening to the griffin’s excited whistling and Y’shtola’s exclamations.

“She is near collapsing herself,” he whispers. “She ought to be resting.”

Sighing, he crosses his arms and rests his head against the wall. Worried as he is, he knows better than to stand between Y’shtola and Lyse, no matter her condition. “Leave her be, for now. No force in this world or beyond motivates, and destroys, quite like love does.”

“In other words, you’re scared of her.”

“Well obviously.”

**3\. Light**

“Oh, my eyes,” she groans, annoyed by the sunlight streaming through the windows she had forgotten to close.

“That’s what happens when you shut yourself in the basement and only come out at night for days on end,” Hahette snarks.

Blinking, she glares at the adventurer, who is lounging on her couch, stretched out like a coeurl in the sun. A very _satisfied_ coeurl in the sun, which gives her a clue as to why Hahette is here in Sharlayan instead of Limsa.

“A new paramour, I take it? Please make use of the bath before you cook me breakfast,” she says dismissively, stretching her arms, ears, and tail to the ceiling. While no stranger to extended bouts of studying, she does think she might have pushed this one too hard. Wincing at the pounding in her head, she regrets not eating or drinking for...however long it has been. Clearly, too long.

An exasperated sigh grabs her attention. “Y’mhitra. Are you listening to me?”

“No,” she says through a yawn.

“Well, _my lady_ , were your ears or eyes or nose working, you would notice that I have already bathed and that _lunch_ is on the table. Goodness. That Rhul blood really shows when you’re exhausted,” Hahette gripes. “And I did not come solely for my paramour.”

She scoffs. Hahette turns bright red; a rather endearing reaction considering how openly she speaks of her sexual activities with any person _beside_ herself.

“Oh, grow up! I brought you gifts!”

Following the direction of Hahette wave, she debates whether she wants to investigate the books or eat. Her growling stomach, however, settles the issue. Digging into her breakfast with a gusto that Lyse and Yda would approve of, Hahette regales her with reports of what her family as been up to in Eorzea. Part of her wishes that her sister and Lyse would speak to her of such things themselves. The odd letter and rare visits are hardly a balm for the unsettling silence of her house.

Truthfully, however much she teases Hahette, only _her_ frequent visits help ease that particular pain. Burying herself in books is not a feasible permanent solution. It’s far too draining on her energy; not to mention rough on the eyes.

“Take a nap, Y’mhitra. I’ve some errands to run. I’ll be back with dinner tonight.”

Full, sleepy, and eyes fighting to stay open, she obeys the suggestion without argument. Two meals with her friend? Perhaps she ought to lock herself in dark rooms more often.

**4\. Dark**

“Wait no.” Lyse clears her throat and looks away nervously, pulling the blanket up to cover her eyes. “I want. I mean. Can you leave the crystal on?”

Startled, she pulls her hand away without question, leaving the crystals to glow. She hadn’t known Lyse was awake. “Of course,” she says gently, petting Vochstein as he whistles in confusion.

Though Lyse has always preferred her room to be as dark as possible when she sleeps, that and more has changed since the slaver mission that saw her bedridden with fever and infection. Children screaming on the distant beach cause her to flinch, dogs howling at the moon or passing pedestrians all but give her an anxiety attack, blood makes her sick, and the dark.

Gods. The dark.

“Sorry,” Lyse whispers from beneath the blanket. There is the slightest tremble in her hands, though whether it is from fear of the dark or shame from admitting a weakness she cannot say.

Her heart aches for her friend, but she refuses to allow her pain to show, settling for a shrug before she climbs into bed. Lyse immediately turns and burrows into her arms with no sense of shame or embarrassment. It has been a sennight since she broke the worst of her fever, but she will be healing for some time yet; physically, emotionally, and mentally. If her best friend needs her presence to feel safe at night, then she will do her utmost to ensure she is there.

Vochstein chirps and settles at Lyse’s back. He enjoys “family time” no matter what form it takes, and has been in quite the good mood now that she is home nearly every night now. It’s at least _one_ positive note in this whole mess.

Stroking Lyse’s hair, she prepares herself for a long night. It won’t be more than a few bells before Lyse reawakens, a scream on her tongue and tears in her eyes, as has been the routine since her friend came stumbling home from her mission. The fever period had been horrendous; Hinden and she had expected nightmares, but the level of trauma, the freshness of it, had surprised them. Incoherent though Lyse’s ramblings had been, she had shared -muttered, screamed, cried, begged, and raged- enough to give them an idea of what had happened during the mission. The eventual follow-up report sent by the Admiral herself only confirmed their fears.

“I’m sorry,” Lyse says again.

Sorry? For what? She nearly asks for clarification, but stops when she realizes that it doesn’t matter. Nothing about this situation is Lyse’s fault, and wherever her friend’s mind is wandering, she will not allow her to believe it is so. “Don’t apologize. No matter how, when, or why, I will _always_ be here if you need me.”

**5\. Seeking Solace**

Saemundr is a smart kid, with plenty of energy and an admirable drive to shadow Lyse’s every move. She only wishes that didn’t extend to her sister’s habit of raiding the kitchen at night, and he isn’t _nearly_ as quiet as Lyse, who has years of experience avoiding Y’mhitra’s sensitive hearing.

“It’s way past your bedtime, you know. And you do _not_ want to eat those. They’re Ava’s.”

Sae yelps and drops the package of cookies he had been stretching to drag off the -highest- shelf. Chuckling, she watches him attempt -and fail- to catch the cookies. He is an eager martial arts student, yes, but he does not naturally possess the grace that, in hindsight, _Lyse_ had at that age. Rhalgr, was Lyse a light footed little brat. Now, she’s practically a ghost when she wants to be. Though _only_ when she wants to be; she’s far too loud otherwise.

“Yda! When did you get back? I mean. I’m happy you’re back. Unhurt. And. Okay. And. Probably really tired? I’ll just. Uh.”

Wow. He even _rambles_ like her sister. “Some bells ago. I’m glad I’m back too, but while you’re here, grab the white package on second shelf, will you?” She doesn’t wait for him to respond, letting him scramble to follow her into the kitchen. She lets him fret while she warms up the milk. A little bit of fear is good for the kid. 

She isn’t, however, completely heartless, so she doesn’t scold him for being up late or for scavenging for treats. Having him assist in making their hot chocolate puts him at ease, the lingering tension from his nightmares fading slowly. She doesn’t ask about them, and he doesn’t speak of them, though she knows they’ve been getting worse and more frequent over the last moon. Honestly, she’s surprised it took three moons for adjustment problems started to kick in. Raforta has been moody for over a moon now, ranging from hiding in her room for days on end or latching onto Mhitra desperately. They aren’t sure how Sae will break down, but she suspects that anger will be a particularly strong emotion for him.

All who were supposed to care for him either died or handed him off without a second thought. Were she him, _she_ would be angry.

Eventually, their supply of hot chocolate runs out, and they both are yawning more than talking. Sae doesn’t protest when she pushes him to his room, stumbling along as if he is a mere second away from falling asleep.

“Goodnight, Sae.” She takes maybe two steps before a small hand grasps her wrists. It drops immediately, the boy holding his hand behind his back and looking at the floor when she turns back to him. His expression is hesitant, even pained, as if he is fighting with himself.

He can’t bring himself to speak, but she doesn’t need him to; she has seen that expression countless times, when Lyse was younger. “You know, Mhitra is a light sleeper. Mind company for the night?”

The smile Sae gives her is tentative and weak, shaking as much as his shoulders and fists. “Yes!” he blurts out. “I mean. Sure. We wouldn’t want to make her grouchy or anything.”

It takes all of her strength not to roll her eyes; not at Sae’s unwillingness to ask her to sleep with him, but at the idea of Mhitra _not_ being grouchy in the morning. Mhitra had been awake when she returned from her mission, scolding a very put-out and injured Hahette. Best friends those two may be, but they have their share of clashes, and from what she heard, this one is going to keep the two in a bad mood for a few days at least.

None of that matters now, however. Ignoring Sae’s hesitation, she pulls him under the covers and into her arms, forcing him to make himself comfortable. The bed is crowded with the two of them, and she vividly recalls several nights spent holding Lyse like this.

Recalls the nightmares and tears and _fear_ that marked their first years after Ala Mhigo. Even back then, she hadn’t been there for Lyse as much as she should have been, but of course, her little sister never complained.

“You’ll be okay, Sae. We aren’t going to leave you alone again,” she says softly.

Sae stiffens in her arms, but she can hear him sniffling. “Promise?” he asks, voice breaking into a strangled whisper.

“...Promise.”

**6\. Break Away**

“Yda.”

No answer.

“Yda!”

Nothing.

Sleeping in -or even getting an undisturbed night of sleep at all- is a luxury she is not accustomed to, but her time in Eorzea has soon many such mornings. Especially in the Hext-Rhul household, where the blankets and pillow are softer than anything she has ever known, the room is comfortably cool, and the silencing wards ensure the peace. But while spending a long, sleepy morning in her lover’s arms is all well and good, she is _hungry_ , and it’s nearly midday now.

Sighing, she attempts -again- to break free of the arms wrapped around her waist. Her efforts amount to nothing more than making her uncomfortable. Idly, she prays for another timely Vochstein intrusion. The woman on top of her mumbles in her sleep, arms tightening for a brief moment before she relaxes again. Hopeful, she nudges her more, until, _finally_ , Yda opens a single eye.

“Please let me go.”

The eye closes and Yda buries her head into her neck. “...No.”

“Yda!”

No response again.

Fine. If that’s how she wants to play it. “If you don’t let me go, I’ll take _Lyse_ with me to the city instead of-”

“Ugh, I’m awake,” Yda groans and rolls off. Sitting up, she gives her the Hext Pout. “You wouldn’t _really_ leave me here, would you?”

 _‘Not if you pout like that.’_ Clearing her throat, she pushes away her immediate rush of affection and says drolly, “As stubborn as you are about sleep, I wouldn’t have a choice.”

Yda cringes and rubs the back of her neck guiltily. “I didn’t get into bed until near sunrise. Sorry.”

Now it’s _her_ turn to feel guilty. She had known that her lover had returned late -or early, rather- but she hadn’t noticed the lightness of the pre-dawn sky when she woke to Yda joining her. The curtains in their room are too thick for anything but full sunlight to penetrate them, and Yda, an ever considerate bed-mate, had lured her back to sleep with soft kisses and reassurances.

Pulling Yda back down, she orders her to rest, emphasizing her words with a slow, passionate kiss. Though her lover to complains about how she can’t sleep after _that_ , she makes no effort to get out of bed, stretching out like their cat, Fang. “I’m going to make breakfast. Or lunch, rather. I’ll leave some aside for you.”

“Mmm. Thank you.”

Stroking the wheat blonde hair, she allows herself to relish how the strands slide between her fingers before she truly gets out of bed. Walking out, she pretends she doesn’t hear the whispered “love you,” pretends that her heart doesn’t beat wildly while simultaneously freezing. Affection, they can allow, but love? That is far too painful a burden to bear, when she is set to throw herself back into a warzone where only skill and luck -but mostly luck- will determine if she survives day by day.

Leaning back against the door, she sighs heavily, wondering at how _easily_ Yda Hext has made herself essential to her happiness. “I love you, too,” she whispers to the empty hallway, dreading the day she has to leave the peace of the Hext-Rhul household.

**7\. Heaven**

That the Great Beyond is a confusing, painful place is perhaps the first coherent thought she has after several minutes of “oh my god” and “ow” and “please kill me wait I’m dead please kill me again.” Waking is a terribly slow process, but when she manages to open her eyes and examine her surroundings, she notes two very important things: Shtola is sitting at her bedside, holding her hand, and Vochstein is curled at her side, head resting on her stomach.

‘ _I take it back. The Great Beyond is perfect if_ they’re _with me_.’

She lies there, relearning how to breathe and how to control her body. First the fingers and toes, which are thankfully painless to move. Now that she’s awake, the pain is migrating to her back. There’s lingering aches in her limbs once she wiggles life into them, but she feels as though she has been sleeping for years.

Where is she, anyway? The stone walls are bare of any decorations, and the cot that serves as her bed is utilitarian. Only the storage box against the wall gives her some clue as to her location; it has the symbol of the Immortal Flames emblazoned proudly on the top.

“ _Mother?_ ”

She blinks. Had she just heard a voice?

At her side, Vochstein rises to his feet.

“ _Mother! You are awake! Are you hurt? Sore? I feared you would never recover.”_ Vochstein nudges her cheek, body wriggling from excitement. “ _Mother assured me that you only required time, but it has been so long since our battle…_ ”

There is a voice. In her head. But not in her head? But she thinks it’s coming from. From _Vochstein_. Which is impossible of course because her griffin doesn’t talk like people talk but here is some rambling voice matching the tone of her griffin’s body movements and oh _Rhalgr_ she is _definitely_ dead because there’s no way this is real and.

“ _Mother? Is something wrong? Should I wake mother?_ ”

“No,” she says immediately. “I’m sure she needs her sleep.” Nothing in her doubts that the “mother” is Shtola. If the voice really is Vochstein, then they have been deemed his mothers for years now. Of course he would refer to them as such now that he has a voice. “Uh, Vochstein?”

“ _Yes?_ ” he replies eagerly, ears tilting back and head rising in curiosity.

Mystery solved. “How long have I been out?”

“ _It has been four moons now, mother. For three, we were in Drybone. Then Thancred found us and he brought us here._ ”

Four moons.

 _Four_ moons.

Four MOONS!

“Oh,” she says weakly.

“ _Mother has refused to leave your side. Our family has visited, but they could not stay. There is much work for them to do, and many people for them to help_.”

Their family. _Her_ family. Right. They had been fighting, the world had been ending. But the world is here, Shtola is here, her family is alive, and she has no immediate worry but getting more sleep. It isn’t _heaven_ , but right now, she’ll take it.

**8\. Innocence**

“How do babies get in moms?”

She chokes on her drink, spluttering and coughing and making a general mess but she doesn’t even care because _what_ had he just asked?

Saemundr watches her without flinching; unusual, considering how shy he can be. “...That’s what Lyse did too. And Mhitra.”

Fumbling for a napkin, she wipes her face -and cleans the table- while pondering what she wants to say. It’s natural for Sae to be curious. He’s at that age, and of course he would ask their family first.

But it isn’t even _noon_ , which means it is far too early in the day for this sort of conversation. Couldn't he have waited a few more hours, or days, or years before asking about babies? She hadn't even had this conversation with Lyse!

Wait. She never had this conversation with Lyse? Who did then? Mhitra? She makes a mental note to ask her later, because if it _had_ been Mhitra, and she _still_ sent Sae to her, they are going to have a serious discussion.

“Well, ah. You see. That's really, uh.” Words refuse to form, her mind racing to figure out how to start this conversation. Then, as if Rhalgr himself sensed her distress, she hears a familiar voice outside. Abruptly standing, she reaches over and grabs Sae's shoulder. “You know what? I know exactly who can explain this to you,” she says wickedly.

“Why can't anyone just give me a straight answer?” Sae grumbles, trudging after her dejectedly.

“Hahette!” she calls before the front door is fully open, ignoring the complaints from her ward. He’ll have his answers soon anyway. “Here. This discussion is just _meant_ for someone like you.”

She pats Sae on the shoulder, nods at Hahette, then bolts away before her friend has a chance to deny her order. Returning to her breakfast, she easily pushes away concerns over Sae’s inevitable traumatization, or Mhitra’s inevitable scolding. After all, isn’t it the Sharlayan way to defer to experts when requesting information? The kid will be fine.

Probably.

**9\. Drive**

_“What, you’ve never ridden a chocobo before? You’re about to learn, then. Time is of the essence and I have no desire to risk wasting my energy on teleportation.”_

For all the mysteries and wonders of Vylbrand -and Eorzea as a whole- there is nothing that can bring her so much joy as the sight of Camp Bronze Lake, barely visible through the steam and morning fog. Their arrival is noticed by a rather self-important looking guard, who does little to dissuade her from her first impression by ordering them to dismount.

They obey, but she promptly continues forward, leading her chocobo and paying no mind to the sputtering buffoon. Hahette can deal with the irksome man; she wants only to limp to the inn and acquire the largest, softest bed available.

“If I never have to travel such a distance chocobo-back again, it will be too soon,” she grumbles.

The chocobo, a disconcertingly intelligent creature given to the free company as a gift from the Bentbranch Stables, whistles sadly, lowering its head as Vochstein does when upset.

Guilty, she immediately pats the bird’s beak and assures it. “Oh. It is no fault of your own! I fear I am not accustomed to such travel, is all. _You_ are a splendid creature, for putting up with my lack of skill.”

Her compliments -and a green- raises the bird’s spirit, and it happily trots after her to the stables. Once the manipulative creature is given over to the care of the chocobokeep, she retreats to the inn, rents a room, and is fully settled onto an divinely soft bed before Hahette finishes whatever business she was distracted by.

“If you want to heal, the hot springs _are_ known for their rejuvenating properties. Though perhaps a massage would not go amiss either,” Hahette snickers after taking one look at her prone form.

“Unless you are going to carry me to the springs yourself, I am most certainly _not_ moving,” she says grumpily, voice muffled by the pillow. Her muscles have melted into puddles of warmth and pain now that she has claimed a bed. She had spent far too long chocobo-back after a full sennight of assisting the Seedseer’s Council with clearing out newly discovered areas of Amdapor. It had been foolish to not give herself time to recover. Hahette, however, had dangled the possibility of visiting the Wanderer’s Palace. What sort of archeologist and scholar would she be had she denied the invitation?

‘ _A well-rested and_ pain-free _scholar, that’s what kind.’_

The bed sinks from Hahette sitting on the edge of it, eager to remove her boots. “So dramatic. Yda and Lyse really are bad influences.”

“I do believe you mean _yourself_ and Lyse,” she sneers, remembering how often she has noted the resemblance between Hahette and Lyse. Though Lyse has always been naturally excitable, Hahette’s appearance in their lives has done naught but foster an exaggerated manner of whining in her adopted sister.

Yda -and Shtola- in contrast, is merely grumpy or flippant, depending on her mood.

Hahette laughs at her comment, rolling over that she may lie next to her and gather her in her arms. She gives only a nominal protest, more annoyed at being stolen from her warm spot than anything else. “Keep up that sort of talk,” she says pressing a kiss to her cheek and massaging the back of one of her thighs, “and I won’t take you up on your offer.”

Suddenly, the idea of indulging in the hot springs is very, _very_ appealing. She knows first hand, after all, how skilled her lover is when it comes to massages. Smirking, she kisses Hahette with a fervor that sets her nerves alight.

“In that case, I promise to put my mouth to better use.”

**10\. Breathe Again**

She may be young, a mere child who doesn’t know a lot of adult things, but she isn’t _stupid_.

She knows that the empire killed her parents, that they didn’t just _leave_ and never return all those years ago like her uncle claimed.

She knows that they were sent away to Eorzea because uncle didn’t want them anymore, not after auntie died.

She knows that Yda and Lyse Hext took them because no one else in Eorzea wanted them either.

She knows all that, but she doesn’t say it because Saemundr hates it when she says those things. He thinks she shouldn’t have to worry, that he should protect her. So she keeps quiet, wondering who’s going to protect _Sae_ , who is only just a child too, no matter how grown-up he pretends to be.

“What are you making?”

Sae fumbles with the mess of cloth in his lap, dropping the knitting tools Avaldr had given him last moon. “Raf! What. I thought you were at lessons!”

“I was. Now I’m not,” she says plainly, squinting at the cloth. “A scarf? For Vochstein?”

Her brother blushes, picking up his tools to fiddle with them nervously. “Ah. Yes. No. It. It’s for, um, Yda.”

That surprises her. Everyone knows that Sae idolizes Lyse, and that Vochstein is his favorite family member. If he was going to be knitting for anyone, her first guess would be those two, who are still healing with Yda and Shtola’s friends. Then again, has he been following Yda around a lot? She doesn’t ever pay attention, but now that she thinks about it, he seems to always be scolding her for doing things Yda wouldn’t approve of lately. She really ought to pay more attention. “Oh, for her nameday? That’s really nice of you.”

Sae blushes harder. “...Do you think she’ll like it?” he asks nervously. “It isn’t very good. Maybe this was a bad idea. She can always get her own, and-”

“Well, yeah. And they’ll be better.”

When Sae droops, frowning down at his work with trembling lips, she thinks that this might have been a time to use that “tact” thing Hahette always lectures her about.

“But she loves you.” Her tone is firm, as if they are nothing but the truth. She only says those words because they will cheer her brother up, but as she imagines Yda grinning in delight when she opens her present, she comes to the realization that she _believes_ them. She truly, honestly believes that Yda, that Lyse and Mhitra and Shtola and Vochstein really _love_ them.

They’re. They’re family.

Taking a deep breath, she grins at Sae. He is staring at her; confused, hopeful, maybe a little lost because for all the time that they have spent in Eorzea, they refused to consider that this might be their _permanent_ home. How could they, when all others had given them up so easily?

“She loves you, so if you try really hard at it, that’s all that matters.”

Sae sniffles, looking away as he rubs his eyes furiously. But he is smiling too, even laughing a little. When he is done wiping away his tears, he takes a deep breath like she had and sits up straight, happier than she has ever seen him in her life. “You’re really smart for a six year old, Raf. You’re definitely going to be the best arcanist ever someday.”

“Of course I am!” she says indignantly, because six years old isn’t _that much_ younger than nine years old. And since when is he so nice to her, anyway? “But I don’t need to be smart to know that we have a real family now.”

He doesn’t respond, already focused on finishing his present for Yda, who has become the closest thing to a mother they have had in years. Scowling, she hops onto her bed and starts her homework. “...I saw a pretty hat when we were in the city earlier. Do you think she’d like that?”

“Yeah! We’ll ask Hinden to take us tomorrow!”

Sae continues babbling eagerly, occasionally trailing off to concentrate on his work. He usually only does that when he’s hyper or nervous, but she understands.

She’s excited to have a family too.


	2. 11-20

**11\. Memory**

“Lyse? What were your parents like?”

She pauses mid-stretch and blinks, turning to Raforta with her arms still in the air. “Yda would be a better person to ask. I don’t remember them, really. She was always traveling and working when we lived in Sharlayan so she didn’t talk about them very often.”

Raf frowns at the book in her lap. “Oh. I don’t remember my parents either. Or...anything about home.”

The confession is painful for them both; Raf because she she feels like she _should_ remember something, and her because it reminds her of her own confession to Yda when she was a child.

_“I don’t remember them anymore_. _”_

She remembers their trip into Gyr Abania, the lullabies and traditions that the other refugees mentioned. They had all been new to her, and mostly forgotten by Yda. The sights, the sounds, all of Gyr Abania had been... _foreign_. She had been a foreigner in her own homeland, and she still feels a strange sense of loss whenever she thinks of the land she came from. She can’t hate where her life is now, can’t imagine a world without Shtola and Mhitra and Hahette, but she wishes she had more of home in her.

Sighing, she pats the cushion next to her. “I can’t help you remember your parents, but I can tell you what I know of Gyr Abania.”

The offer is accepted with an excited smile, Raf abandoning her circle of homework -and brightly colored renditions of carbuncles fighting beasts such as dragons, behemoths, and Leviathan- without hesitation. Raf, always affectionate, chooses to lay across her lap, watching her expectantly. She feels a little self-conscious about her lack of knowledge, but she doesn’t think the girl will care, and Yda will be home soon. Stalling until then will be easy enough.

“First off, you know how much blue is here in Vylbrand? That’s how much brown there is in Gyr Abania. Everything is brown! And it’s _hot_. Way hotter than the beach in summer.”

**12\. Insanity**

There’s something wrong with him.

He knows that, even without his parent’s grim looks and Ashaht’s long stares.

He’s broken, and though he has tried to be better, tried to be _normal_ for the family that has taken him in, he is starting to think that there _is_ no fixing him. It had been okay, for a long time. Sure, it had been hard in the beginning, when he was sick and weak from captivity. But his new family had helped him, had stayed at his side and let him sleep in a too big too soft bed. They fed him and hugged him and chased the nightmares away for a while. 

And then, five moons after his rescue, that changed. They had been eating out, celebrating something he no longer recalls, when an angry customer had charged out of the restaurant while they were walking in. The man, a large Roegadyn, had roughly pushed him out of the way. His parents told him that he hit his head and blacked out; he only remembers waking up on the floor, people surrounding him, his head aching something awful, and panic welling up inside of him because he thought he was _back_ to the scary place with the blood and death and screaming and the pain and the dogs. Since that night, he has nightmares constantly, is always afraid, and when he isn’t afraid, he’s...angry. Scary angry. He hates it. Hates the slavers that made him this way, hates the man the pushed him, and hates himself for being weak.

“My friends are safe, and they won’t even need to touch you to heal you,” Ashaht says as she leads him along the stone street.

There are houses all around him, but no shops in sight. The atmosphere is relaxing, unlike Limsa Lominsa where he saw the last healer. But he doesn’t feel relaxed, doesn’t feel _safe_. Every shadow, every corner, every large shrub could be hiding someone _dangerous_. Hiding the slavers who return to his dreams every night.

He wonders what sort of healers these people are. Ashaht says they’re nice, which is a rare compliment paid to the others of the free company his -adopted- sister works for. Usually she calls them energetic and decent sparring partners, but she doesn't usually call them “nice.”

“R'ashaht!”

The voice startles him, sending him flying into his sister’s side and clutching her waist as tightly as his skinny arms allow.

“Whoa!” Ashaht yelps. Slowly, she puts a hand on his back. “Hey. It’s fine. It’s just Sae.”

“Sae” turns out to be a young, dark-skinned boy with white hair. The boy has stopped several fulms away, shifting his weight nervously and clutching a large bird thing in his arms. Or is it a cat? It has four legs, but it also has wings, and its eyes _glow_. Is that normal? He doesn’t think so. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. Are you okay?”

He buries his head into Ashaht’s back and refuses to answer. His heart is still racing, and his limbs feel like that weird pudding stuff his new mom likes, all wobbly. Maybe he should have eaten something today…

“Sae, is Y’mhitra or Hinden around?”

“Oh, yeah. Mhitra is here, but she’s lecturing Hahette about something.”

“Great, thanks.” A hand tugs at his shirt. “Come on. You’re safe, remember? Like _I_ would let anything get you.”

Reluctantly, he releases his death grip on Ashaht’s shirt.

“Do you want to hold Vochstein? He’s strong! He’ll keep you safe until you get to our home.”

He blinks at the boy and frowns. Apparently, he doesn’t need to answer, because the boy has already let the “Vochstein” fly to him. He isn’t very reassured by the small creature, but it has sharp claws, so maybe it will help? But what if it hurts _him_? He doesn’t know the boy, doesn’t know if he’s safe.

The Vochstein hovers in front of Ashaht, chirping and whistling happily.

“Go on,” she assures him. “He’s cute, and very soft.”

Well, if Ashaht says so. Slowly holding his arms up, the weird cat-bird creature flies to him, bumping against his chest gently. Once settled in his arms, it whistles and rubs its head against his cheek.

“All good then? Sae, go ahead and ask Y’mhitra to set some time aside for us.”

Sae runs off with a nod, running faster than any other kid he has seen. Shockingly, he finds himself curious about the boy and the fluffy creature he is holding. It’s been a moon since he felt anything other than anger or fear.

“Ashaht,” he says when Sae is out of sight. “...What is this Vochstein? It looks like a cat-bird.”

Ashaht laughs at his question and the Vochstein tilts its head in confusion. “It’s a griffin, Lhinah. A stuffed one, anyway.”

He holds out the griffin, surprised. “He’s _fake_?” But the claws and feathers look so _real_. How did they do that?

Vochstein whistles sadly at his exclamation, skinny ears lowering and tail drooping.

Feeling guilty for hurting the griffin’s feelings, he hugs it tightly. “Sorry.”

Ashaht groans. “Don’t let him manipulate you. He’s as spoiled as they come. Now let's get going. You’ll like Y’mhitra. She's Lyse's sister. Sae's her family too, sort of.”

Family to Lyse? He remembers his sister’s lover and partner, though they have only met three times. She was nice, and fun, and was an orphan like him. _And_ she had helped save him. Maybe this Y’mhitra will be safe then, and that Sae kid too.

**13\. Misfortune**

She stares at the garbage can in the kitchen, unable to hold back her dismay. Her last mission had been a series of unfortunate disasters that she had barely managed to escape. There were no casualties, thank the gods, but Yda had fractured a rib, Papalymo had gotten a concussion, and she, well.

“Shtola! You’re home! ...Hey aren’t those your new boots? ...And jacket. What happened?”

Her tail twitches and she cannot help but glare at the remains of her new - _Fen Yi-_ boots and jacket. “Why don’t you ask _Yda_ what happened?” she sneers poisonously.

“...Right.” Her ears catch the slight scuff of Lyse sliding away from her. “Well, uh. I’m gonna take Vochstein out to the beach. You should rest since you just got back from your mission okay bye!”

She grunts, momentarily debating between following after the woman she loves and their familiar - _child_ \- or retreating to her room to sulk in peace. It’s a disturbingly close competition, but she reasons that she can exact retribution for her ruined clothing at any time. Spending time with her unrequited love is more appealing than mourning her lost outfit.

And anyway, for the revenge she has in mind, it will be necessary to teach Vochstein a new skill before Yda returns tomorrow.

**14\. Smile**

R’ashaht Rhiki is a lot of things: determined, stubborn, an avid triple triad player, ridiculously strong, some say savage. What she _isn’t_ is petty, or jealous, or prone to possessiveness unless meals are involved.

So when she peeks into her partner and current lover’s room, she only blinks at finding Lyse resting peacefully in Y’shtola’s arms. They aren’t lovers, she knows, and even if they were, she wouldn’t particularly care. Miqo’te generally aren’t bound by the same sort of silly monogamous rules that Hyurans and Elezen are. Lyse is the best sort of friend, an amazing battle partner, and fun in bed, but she isn’t looking to compete with _Y’shtola Rhul_ for the title of mate.

“R’ashaht? Is there an emergency?” Y’shtola mumbles. One eye watches her, but she gives no other acknowledgement of her presence aside from twitching ears. She must have returned to the company house not too long ago. 

Either that, or Lyse had had nightmares again. Though less frequent after ten moons, she still has bad nights every sennight or so. They both do.

“I’m going to the city to pick up supplies. I was going to ask if she needed anything.”

Y’shtola hums, eyes closing as she rifles through that scary brain of hers. “I’ve some orders at the apothecary for her medicines, if you wouldn’t mind picking that up. And-”

“Bandages ‘n flour, please. Running low,” Lyse interrupts softly. Her partner smiles, the expression so relaxed she almost feels guilty for waking her.

She nods, orders them both back to sleep, and closes the door gently. Behind those doors, the two in bed are likely exchanging smiles. Bright smiles only mildly dampened by their exhaustion, with so much love in them she feels embarrassed _imagining_ it. Those sweet smiles aren’t a common occurrence, but she has seen Lyse and Y’shtola share them often enough over the years.

Enough times that she has to wonder how they aren’t lovers yet. But, really, that’s _their_ problem to figure out. She’s no expert on love, after all, and those two need more than one expert for how dense they can be. Or rather, they need experts that _don’t_ have stakes in a betting pool concerning their relationship.

Miheone and Hahette _really_ like their betting.

‘ _I wonder how many years it’ll take them to figure it out_. ... _Maybe I’ll put money on five._ ’

**15\. Silence**

Silence is something Miheone hasn’t been well-acquainted with for many years. Her fellow adventurers -and herself, she will admit without hesitation- have little appreciation for things like “inside voices” and “resting hours,” no matter how much Hahette snarls at them for interrupting her sleep. On the few days she isn't overworking herself or with a lover or three. Granted, the latter has been uncommon since the Calamity, and lately rarer than that, which is likely the reason Hahette has been in the _worst_ mood she has ever seen. Whatever strange issue she’s got going on with Y’mhitra Rhul certainly doesn't help either.

It DID help them close the sale on the Vesper Bay office, however. Her leader's tension granted her the strength to strong-arm the Ul'dahn merchants into closing the deal a few days ago.

The new company building that Hahette has acquired is so new that her voice bounces among the currently empty hall, a sign that she has much work to do getting this place up and running. Her minions have yet to move in, not that many of her own personal effects have been moved over either.

With a long sigh, she tosses a rubber ball into the hallway, listening to its progress as it manages to make its way into the closet, knocking over a broom and landing in a bucket. Their new office is a small affair, not much bigger than their first company house. It’s main floor, which is strictly for business, has three rooms, the largest of which is the front room where their -Mhigan- secretary will be stationed. The second floor is for living quarters, and the small cellar will hold their supplies and weapons. It doesn’t have the comforts of the mansion, or a training yard, but there is a Flames outpost nearby if they want sparring partners, and the Scions are hardly a stone throw away.

She sits for a moment more before deciding that the silence is annoying. The scrape of the wooden chair legs sliding along the stone floor is almost comforting; she’ll take any sort of noise right now. The market is appropriately lively and loud, the murmur of people, chocobo’s, the sea, and local wildlife blending into soothingly familiar chorus.

But it isn’t the noise she wants right now. No, she desires a different song of home, and there is only one place that can give it to her.

Tataru, the Scion’s exuberant secretary, greets her with a wave of her fan. She is curious, for Tataru seems to always have some new interest or hobby, but she has a goal at the moment, and the Lalafell has already lost interest in her presence. Short attention span, that one, but a genius when it comes to coin. Were Hahette not satisfied with the Mhigan recruits -they require teaching, but they’re loyal to a fault and painfully blunt in a way that Hahette _adores_ \- she would have tried to steal Tataru herself.

“Miheone! Did you require assistance with the new office?”

She grins at Minfilia, who is walking out of the storeroom with a plate of food. “Finally gracing the outside world with your beautiful presence, Minfilia? You know, the market could do with more of your beauty, or even my bed-”

“So you were _bored_ ,” Minfilia interrupts, cheeks and ears bright red in spite of her deadpan tone. The Scion’s leader is known for her occasionally sharp tongue and calm demeanor, but, as she has noticed over the last few days, honest flattery or flirting always brings out her shy side. It’s adorable, really, and she shamelessly takes advantage of it for her amusement. “Ivoix returned from Sharlayan last night.”

Interesting information indeed, but it’s an obvious ploy at redirecting her attention. “I expect a better attempt at subterfuge from you, _Antecedent_. I will allow it to pass for today. However, my offer still stands,” she sings, grinning widely when she is treated to the sight of Minfilia blushing harder.

The Antecedent looks away and mutters something to the effect of, “Very funny.” Her shoulders are stiff and there is a strained smile maring her otherwise cute expression.

She wants to believe that Minfilia simply cannot handle harmless flirting, or that she is humorless in the same vein that Y’mhitra can often be. Instinct tells her otherwise, unfortunately. Staring at this young woman who has seen far too much loss and taken on far too great a burden with little support, she is reminded of Lyse, Yda, and their genuine disbelief in their own attractiveness. In their own _worth_. Hahette and the Rhuls work with the Hext sisters on that matter, but she has realized in her time running back and forth between Vylbrand and Vesper’s Bay that there is no such companionship or caring for Minfilia Warde.

The Scions as a whole are a reliable group in a fight, and dedicated to their cause, but they are not the best resources for anything concerning emotional or mental health. Well. Now that she is going to be spending most of her time in Vesper’s Bay, that won’t continue for long. Skipping over to the young woman, she leans down and kisses her cheek before she can escape.

“Don’t mistake me for Hahette, Minfilia dear. When I flirt, I _mean_ it,” she whispers into her ear. Then she takes her leave, smirking at the embarrassed squeak Minfilia cannot hold back.

Ivoix, sprawled out on his bed with a single shoe half-off, takes one look at her smug grin when she slips into his room and rolls his eyes. “Oh gods. Which of my poor comrades have you taken a shine to?” He knows her well, waiting patiently for her answer as she makes herself comfortable beside him. The bed is just large enough to fit the lanky Elezen and Roegadyn halfbreed Archon; fitting _two_ half breeds takes some maneuvering, but she has no objection to laying on top of her favorite lover.

“Give me some credit. I have an eye for your fearless leader,” she says, voice lilting with amusement.

“Not even here for a full sennight and already trying to create conflicts of interest for me,” he mutters jokingly.

She doesn’t bother playing along; not when she has a legitimate topic on her mind. “She’s perfect for her job, Ivoix, but she’s young, hurting, and _alone_ in it. She’s going to drown if nothing is done.”

_Why didn’t you notice?_

The unasked question hangs in the air.

“I’ve been watching her,” Ivoix admits, tone now serious. So at least _one_ Scion isn’t completely hopeless. Proof that she has excellent taste in lovers. “She’s good at hiding her emotions, and neither does she want to seem weak to those who work for her. With the sort of connections she must maintain and political games she must play, I can’t say I blame her, but it _is_ unfortunate. Luckily for her, this beautiful co-leader of a well-known free company has just moved into town. I’m confident she will teach her much.”

Laughing into his neck, she says, “First on the list is how to take a compliment with a straight face!”

**16\. Questioning**

_“Why do you speak to so many people on the linkshell?”_

“The Scions are a neutral organization. It keeps us free from being bound to a single city-state’s politics, but also means that we do not have the _support_ of any city-state. We must make friends with many different organizations to function properly.”

_“But you help them with many dangers. Why do they not support you?”_

She grins mirthlessly and rubs Vochstein’s head. The plush cannot feel it, but he appreciates affectionate gestures like any other child does. “It is a form of greed. Those in power often like to keep control of other powerful things, and when they cannot, they destroy it or cast it out.”

_“They would destroy something simply because it does not obey them? But why?”_

“...Because to some people, the only power they care about is the power to control anything they want, no matter the price their people pay for it.”

Vochstein is quiet for some time, mulling over her words as she continues filling out yet another reply to yet another interested party asking yet again for essentially a kidnapping of a rival. She believes in her cause, she does, and she will fight to the death to protect Eorzea - _to protect her friends_ \- but sometimes she wishes people were less like...people.

Fine. Most of the time.

_“Do you like power?”_

She pauses. Does she like power? Does she like the constant battles and minefields that are political games? Like the dagger that hides in every smile? Like fending off those who think to buy their services for unscrupulous means? Like enduring the disrespect others have for her age, her Gyr Abanian blood, her lack of experience, or her ideals? Like sending off her friends to battle after battle, accepting that they may never come back?

“No, Vochstein,” she says sadly, because she had once promised the curious child that she will not lie to him and he is disturbingly perceptive when it comes to other people’s emotions. “No, I do not. Sometimes I must make decisions that I do not enjoy. I hold this position because there are no others who _can_ , and because Master Louisoix entrusted it to me.”

_“Miheone says you require relaxation and a bed.”_

The mention of the adventurer causes her to flinch. Relaxation and a bed? She is quite sure innocent Vochstein misunderstood the words; Miheone has made many an attempt to convince her to “relax” by _joining her_ in bed _._

It irks her, how she is reluctant to interact with the older adventurer _and_ reluctant to send her away. Miheone is a veritable wellspring of advice pertaining to the Scion’s efforts to remain neutral, as well as how to handle troublesome merchants. Hahette’s company runs with an efficiency she can only _dream of_ at the moment, and Miheone -who is a large part of said efficiency- is all too happy to share her wisdom. And more than willing to take on some of the more annoying job requests when their ranks are low.

But. The _flirting_. Gods. She thought she would be capable of handling such people due to her long friendship with Thancred, but she quickly realized that witnessing Thancred’s attempts at charming women and being the _focus_ of such attentions are two rather different things. Nobles and merchants attempting to earn her favor have tried to do so through flirting, of course, but she has always handled those situations well. Miheone, however, has no ulterior motive, and she had no defense for an honest appreciation of herself. She doesn’t think she has blushed as much in her entire life as she has in the last three moons, and all of her subordinates find it amusing.

_‘Traitors,’_ she bemoans to herself.

_“Do you not like Miheone?”_

She flinches again. He really is too perceptive by far; a trait that is most certainly inherited from Lyse, as neither Yda nor Y’shtola tend to pay much attention to people unless necessary. “I do not dislike her, Vochstein. She simply...makes me nervous.”

_“She accused aunt Yda and mother Shtola of neglecting you,”_ he says, leaning forward in concern. _“Are you being neglected? Are you hurt? Do you need help?”_

“I. What?” she asks, confused, pained in a way she doesn’t understand, and maybe a little touched. “She. She said that?”

Vochstein crawls along her desk and settles next to her arm, glowing eyes watching her. Were he capable of facial expressions, she imagines he would be looking up at her with the widest, cutest eyes in his eagerness to protect and support his friend. It’s devastatingly effective when Lyse does it, so perhaps she should be glad that the griffin has to settle for other means of expressing himself. _“Yes. She was very unhappy. That is why she forced them to leave and buy dinner for you. I stayed to watch you, in case you need help.”_

Is she offended? Part of her feels she ought to be, as she is not a child and most certainly not helpless. But when was the last time anyone trulysat and spoke with her? When was the last time she _allowed_ it? Miheone has been the only person in recent memory to take the time to sit and speak with her of matters other than business, or to let her vent. If she ignores the flirting, she can admit to herself that the woman is counted among her favorite people, for all their relatively short length of acquaintance. She had originally attributed Ivoix’s high praise of her to their relationship; now she knows that he had been a tad modest.

Brow furrowing, she muses on the another part of Vochstein’s declaration. “Um. Where are they retrieving dinner from, exactly? You have been here for a bell already. The market is not _that_ busy. Or far.”

_“Limsa! The best people deserve the best food when they work hard. That’s what Hahette says to aunt Mhitra when she is upset, and wants to make her special drinks. And mother Lyse says it to mother Shtola when she brings fish food from town. ...But_ not _when mother Shtola is upset because she is too grumpy. Those times, she only gets hugs and ear rubs.”_ Vochstein’s description of his family life draws a giggle out of her. She enjoys his commentary about things that, in any other situation, would be boring and commonplace. The griffin’s odd mixture of childlike innocence and advanced vocabulary lead to the strangest statements, and his very Lyse-like habit of rambling only emphasises his peculiarities.

And she admits, hearing of her friend’s happiness is something she enjoys. They deserve it, for all they have lost and endured. For how they continue to fight for the safety of Eorzea each day.

- _She only wishes she deserved such happiness as well_ -

**17\. Blood**

He had once thought Yda to be the singularly most stubborn woman he had ever met; had spent days and moons arguing with her over jobs, her home, Lyse, and her desire to be an Archon back when she first settled in the colony. Never will he meet anyone so frustrating and hardheaded, he oft swore to himself. More often swore it to her face.

Then young Lyse decided that she needed bring Y’shtola Rhul into her life, and Y’shtola Rhul summarily decided to free Lyse from her doubts and insecurities, which resulted in giving him _two_ Hext shaped headaches.

“Let me see.”

“M fibe,” Lyse mutters thickly, holding her nose and paying no attention to the blood dripping between her fingers and onto her shirt. One of her _new_ shirts, if he remembers correctly. Y’mhitra will be exasperated, if unsurprised.

“Ah, yes. Clearly. Noses are _meant_ to gush out blood,” he says, voice dryer than the Dalmascan desert.

Lyse frowns, but decides that talking takes too much effort and she would be nigh unintelligible anyway. She is an unpleasant sight, with blood all over her face and tears welling in her eyes. He knows the tears are more from the suddenness of the accident than the pain of it. She has endured many a training accident at this point in her short life; though fewer than he expect are a result of her foolishness. The mysterious Carl who runs the public training center is not fond of children, according to the research he has compiled on the man, but he is watchful enough over Lyse that no accident occurs twice. It helps that Lyse is a quick learner. She will practice until her knuckles are bloody and her bones threaten to crack, but she rarely repeats _mistakes_.

“Your shirt is stained with blood _and_ you left a trail from the living room. That will be difficult enough to explain to Y’mhitra.” He is unduly satisfied by the cringe Y’mhitra’s name elicits. The young scholar is quite the worrier, and she will most certainly be less than impressed when Lyse informs her that she was injured while trying to decorate for the upcoming holiday. “Do you really want to still be holding your nose when she arrives? Or do you want to be cleaned up and too pathetic looking to rouse her ire?”

He is given a grumble for calling her pathetic, but there are no other words for the sight before him. Regardless of her annoyance, she finally allows him to assist her. Not only is her nose swollen, she has cut her lip and bitten her tongue. It seems soup will have to be her meal of choice for the rest of the sennight.

“And here I used to think _Yda_ was the most reckless person I’ve ever met,” he complains after Lyse is cleaned and bandaged. “No more using boxes as ladders, if you will.”

“Boxes ‘n books,” Lyse corrects cheerfully.

“That is _not_ a better alternative! Have some respect for those books!”

**18\. Rainbow**

Eorzea is filled with more colors than he has ever known existed. The trees, the beaches, the sky, everything about it is so _different_ from Gyr Abania.

Even the people.

“So _this_ is where you disappeared to.” He yelps and scrambles away from the tiny cliff his back is resting against. In his haste, he forgets to avoid the small stream next to him, his arm falling into it with a loud splash. Yda snickers, eyes glinting as she watches him flail and groan in dismay. She is standing on the edge of the “cliff,” bending a little to loom over him with her arms crossed. “Miheone is sorry for whatever she did to scare you, she says.”

He huffs, bringing his legs to his chest and hugging his knees with his dry arm. The wet arm, he shakes and wipes on his pants. “She didn’t scare me,” he says petulantly. Because it’s true. Miheone hadn’t scared him. It had been worse; she had reminded him of his mother.

A hand rests on his shoulder and he jumps. The women he lives with are _fast_ , and quiet, like cats, though he doesn’t think Shtola and Mhitra will appreciate the comparison. Yda sits next to him and waits. She rarely asks him to share his thoughts, and _never_ forces him too. It’s nice, because other people always want him to talk, to explain why he was quiet or angry or sad.

Yda doesn’t, though. She tells him that she will listen if he wants to talk, and then she sits with him. Sometimes she tells him stories of Lyse, or Shtola, or Sharlayan, or even of home. She has so many stories, even though she tells him that most of the stories she knows are sad. 

He doesn’t care either way, because sadness can’t be avoided anyway, right? He can handle sadness, because he’s strong. Or, he will be. He swore it, and the other adults are helping him, and even _Lyse_ helps him.

“My mom used to do things like that,” he says eventually. “And I got scared because I couldn’t remember what her laugh sounded like.”

An arm wraps around his shoulders and drags him against a hard body. Yda is not made for affection, he once thought. She isn’t bright like Lyse, doesn’t radiate warmth with her smile and make him feel like challenging the world because her energy is infectious. No, Yda is _steady,_ and unwavering, always there when he needs her. When she’s gone, he remembers her praises and encouragements and it’s like she never left.

“Look. You’ll like this.” Yda declares, pulling something out of her pocket and placing it on the grass. It’s a crystal. Nothing special, but Yda is smiling, humming nonsense noises that are almost songs, and her fingers dance around the crystal as they light up with aether. It isn’t loud or obvious, but that is how Yda expresses her happiness, and he finds himself calmed by the sight. Once the crystal is charged to her satisfaction, she promptly tosses it in the stream.

He opens his mouth to ask why she threw it away, but light shimmers from the stream and then a small rainbow appears within the waterfall. His question turns into a breathless exclamation of delight.

“Where I grew up, there’s a giant waterfall next to the village. There was always a rainbow in the water,” Yda says softly. She isn’t looking at him, is instead staring at the rainbow she created. From the look in her eyes, he thinks that she isn’t really looking at it though. “My dad would take me there when he had the time, but usually I went alone in the mornings. My mom...she liked to train there on the weekends. I used to think I would never forget what it felt like to be there, but the memories aren’t strong anymore. The sound of the waterfall, of the people coming and going, of the animals that my mom liked to feed. It was wet, always. Nice in the summer, awful in winter. I want to take Lyse there someday. I would like to see it again, even if I know it won’t be the same.”

Yda is smiling sadly, but not in the painful way that the other refugees did on their way into Eorzea. He thinks she misses home and her parents. That’s something he understands; he may not remember his parents well, but he still misses them.

They sit there until his legs are numb and his stomach starts growling. Yda laughs at him, complaining that he eats nearly as much as Lyse used to, until his hand grasps hers firmly. She falters, as surprised as he is, but she pulls him along as if this isn’t the first time he has voluntarily held her hand.

“I’ll take all of you there, someday.”

Yda doesn’t look at him, keeping her gaze straight ahead, but her grip tightens and he feels _warm_.

“I’d like that.”

**19\. Grey**

_Her father and brothers stand at the assembly line, heads down and arms swinging as they hammer into the steel. Everything is pitiless grey steel here in the castrum: the walls, the doors, the assembly line, the machines they are forced to create, the chains that bind their hands to the line and the shackles that bind their feet to the floor._

_With every strike of their hammers, disease sparks out, spraying them, covering them. It sinks into their skin, turning it a sick, mottled grey. The room slowly grows feverishly hot, until the men are sweating puddles. Their skin melts off with the sweat, the steady drip of it ungodly loud, drowning out the hammering, the rattle of their chains, and the hum of the assembly line. Muscles, organs, veins all melt, but their hammering never ceases, never slows._

_They disappear, one by one, until only her father is left. Suddenly she is right in front of him, staring at his melting eye. The skeletal remains of his face grin at her and laughs._

_“Why didn’t you save us, my precious Rell?”_

She wakes with a gasp, tears rolling down her face. Heart racing, she covers her eyes with her arm and tries to wipe her tears away. For a brief moment, she fears her skin will wipe away too.

Yda cuddles into her side, throwing an arm around her waist and resting her head on her shoulder. She asks no questions, demands no answers, only presses lingering kisses on her shoulder and neck, and draws shapes on her waist with her fingers. Yda has trouble comforting people with words, but she finds that she prefers the small, physical affections her lover gives instead.

“Feel up to breakfast?”

She considers says no, considers asking her to stay in bed for a while longer, just the two of them, soaking in the peace and warmth of Yda, their bed, and the Hext-Rhul household. Her stomach, however, has other ideas, and Yda snorts when it makes its opinion known.

“That’s a strong yes.”

Groaning, she allows Yda to pull her out of bed. She’s going to pay for her indolent habits when she returns to the Reach, but she can’t find it in herself to care. Yda spends much of her day working, and though she is home nearly every night -a schedule that Mhitra claims was adopted for the children’s sake- she does not want to waste their time together. All too soon, she will be back in the warzone, surrounded by death and hopelessness, and she’s going to cling to every last bit of love she can until that time.

“Mooooom! Can we go to the market yet? We need Orella’s stuff!” Sae shouts from downstairs.

“Need what?” she mouths to Yda, who smirks but doesn’t answer.

“After breakfast! Are you cleaned up?”

Sae declares that he isn’t, and she spots him running to the bathroom as they descend the stairs. He must have just finished morning training. If there’s anything that has impressed her about the child, it’s that he maintains such a strict training schedule without complaint. She has seen seasoned soldiers who have less discipline.

“What are you up to?” she insists.

“Don’t worry about it. Eat! Unless you’re waiting for your stomach to call Hahette over,” Yda teases, pushing her into the kitchen.

She remains suspicious, because _that_ kind of smile never means anything good for anyone, but she is hungry enough -and smitten enough- to put up with it for now. Yda doesn’t give off the impression of being playful, not when she’s in the field and on a mission. At home and surrounded by family and friends? That’s a different matter entirely.

And she has to admit, she rather likes it. Even if it means putting up with an entirely too smug Yda and Sae for the entire morning, being dragged around the Limsa market for no discernable reason, coerced into buying a frankly _ridiculous_ hat, and coming home to a party that includes their house _and_ Hahette’s because it’s her nameday; a fact everyone but herself remembered.

“You make it hard to leave,” she whispers much later, when the party has died down, Yda is in her arms, and Sae is sprawled out on their laps, snoring away. The lad fits perfectly on the couch, but he has several more years to grow. She gives it another three before he is too long to lay across it comfortably. She wonders why the family has not upgraded to a larger sectional, when all but Y’shtola are prone to sprawling out on the thing.

“I know,” Yda says, tone apologetic. “But I’m not letting what time you have left here be morose and depressing. You deserve better.”

_You may not get another chance to relax like this_.

She hums, pretending she isn’t vividly recalling her lost family, friends, and comrades. That she isn’t thinking of the endless misery that is a medic’s tent in an oppressed land. That part of her doesn’t desperately want to stay. “In that case, I must insist we get a cake tomorrow. One that we will keep _away_ from clumsy adventurers.”

Yda laughs, then cringes in memory of the destroyed cake. “That, I will gladly do. We should get two, since we’re all home. Oh, and some more alcohol. And fresh strawberries! I’ve had a craving, lately. I completely forgot earlier. Shame.”

While her lover lists out everything they need to have a nice dinner -and what they will need to ensure Lyse and Sae don’t eat them out of house and home- she lazily drops kisses on her neck and shoulder. Parties and large dinners are all well and good, but the quiet moments like this are what she will miss the most.

**20\. Fortitude**

The people of Gyr Abania are born to fight, to struggle, to challenge the world. It is their strength and their weakness. Though they may triumph in many battles, so too do they often keep pushing where they should rightfully give up.

This stubbornness saw him dedicate his life to fighting the first the Imperials, then the Mad King, then the Imperials again. It saw him survive battle after battle, saw him endure fleeing his homeland as his friends and family fell around him. He survived, he trained, he continued the fight. He thought he would die fighting. Planned for it, even.

Then he became the leader of Little Ala Mhigo, and now, fourteen years later, he is certain of one thing only; the fighting hasn't been worth it. The losses had fueled his anger, in the first years, but as the years went by, his anger faded and was replaced by numbness. He dithered in that state for a year, until taking care of his fellow refugees became a comfort for him.

Staring at a sobbing Yda Hext as she brokenly admits to feeling the same, he curses himself, their fellow Resistance fighters, the Imperials, and the gods all for driving this young woman to the breaking point. For all the friends he lost who felt as he did, but didn’t know how to give up.

All he can offer her are words and a shoulder, but he thinks that’s all she needs. Her family -an intelligent and frightening group of women- will be there to help her find her way; he only needs to open her to the possibility of peace.

Yda Hext is a strong woman, who has endured more pain than any should in a lifetime, but she doesn’t need to stand alone.

_Moons later, she comes back with fire in her eyes and declares that none of them do. They’re going to help each other whether they want to or not._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Miheone is determined to sidle her way into the story, and I think I have no choice but to let her XD


	3. 21-30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yet another batch! That...would have been finished sooner...if I hadn't started binge watching Lucifer. >_>

**21\. Vacation**

**__** _‘Make some new contacts, get some relaxation in. It’ll be fun, she said. But fun for who?’_

Minfilia is unhappy. Sort of. She had been looking forward to the opportunity to make important contacts with a group based in Vylbrand -friends of Hahette’s that have little love for government but agreed to meet with _her_ , leader of the Scions- but the people she has so far encountered are either aloof to the point of rudeness or overly touchy to the point of harassment. Never has she been so relieved to see Miheone as she was when Hahette’s representative showed up and subtly threatened all of them to _back off_.

On this single occasion, she will allow herself to be ‘claimed,’ in a manner of speaking.

“Sorry,” Miheone whispers once they have escaped from the others. “This particular crew of his isn’t a favorite of mine, but they’re usually out in the field. I had hoped it would be the case this time.” They walk to the small shack given to them for the sennight at a leisurely pace, arms linked. Eager though she may be to get away from the group she had encountered, she is too exhausted from her travel to muster a quicker pace.

Or so she tries to tell herself, but part of her admits that she finds it comforting to have Miheone so close to her. None of the crew are willing to go near them, too intimidated by the adventurer who seems to have a reputation among their camp, and she has no energy to scare them away herself. Nor does she want to offend the wrong person, when she has no idea who the _right_ person is.

“I’m surprised they were willing to spare a cabin for us, with as many people present as there are,” she says curiously. Had they been lucky? Had Miheone bribed them for the use of the shack? Or is Hahette that respected by the group? The last seems more likely.

Miheone shrugs, the motion dragging her arm up with hers. “Most of them don’t _stay_ here. They prefer to spend their time in Wineport or Costa, though some are sent off to assist the locals. It’s important to have a good relationship with the only people around who can help you in an emergency, after all. Those that don’t go into town will head out to the field again by morning.”

That’s a lot of dedication for simple archeologists, but then, perhaps it isn’t so surprising. The only Archon among the Scions that doesn’t consider reading a hobby is Yda, though that doesn’t mean the woman isn’t incredibly intelligent. Unless it concerns emotional matters, but that is something few of the Archons among the Scions are knowledgeable in.

“The cottage is nice enough, but we’ll have to share a room.” Miheone laughs at her flinch and startled look, smirking down at her knowingly. “There areseparate beds. We’ll not need to share, unless you desire-”

“ _Miheone_ ,” she groans, exasperated. Can they not have a _single_ conversation without her friend flirting? Just one?

“You make it too easy, Minfilia, but at least you don’t blush as often as you used to.” They come upon the cottage they are meant to stay in; a clean, simple building made with crystal lights hanging above the door and a plain black mat at the entrance. It’s cozy, and she takes the time to admire the designs engraved within the doorframe while Miheone pulls away from her arm to unlock the door. “I think it’s time to introduce you to some of our merchant contacts. You’re more than capable of handling the more forward ones now.”

She frowns as she takes in the words and their implications. “You. You’ve been _training_ me?” she asks, tone incredulous. Miheone has been advising her in company matters -for she claims the Scions to essentially be free company in all but name- since her move to Vesper’s Bay, and has made several mentions of expanding their network, but never did she think the woman to be planning so far ahead. Or that she is so invested in the Scion’s future.

Or that her flirting has an ulterior motive.

“Of course! You’ve a knack for networking, Minfilia, and you’ve done well to raise the Scions to their current status, especially for your lack of proper training and the insistence on secrecy.”

In spite of the complementary nature of her words, she senses a “but” in her tone.

“However, taking requests from the grand companies and the odd Sharlayan group is no reliable way of remaining neutral. Politics are simply too unreliable to trust that the current goodwill of the city-states will hold. And they’re greedy things, governments. Someday, what you are won’t be enough. You need roots.” She opens her mouth to question her words, but Miheone shakes her head. “Yes, _you_ , not the Scions. The Scions are supposed to be secret, after all. We’re going to start making you, leader of a small company Hahette occasionally outsources to, some connections.”

Miheone pats her shoulder and leaves with the excuse that she needs to check their food and firewood stores. Dazedly, she claims a bed and attempts to distract herself by unpacking. It doesn’t work for long, as most of her clothes are staying in her luggage.

“Roots, hmm,” she whispers to herself, flopping back onto the bed ungracefully. The idea of expanding the Scions, no, _her_ network is...intimidating. It had been easy to make Sharlayan connections -via Krile and the Archons- and use the power of Louisioux’s name to keep the respect of the Grand Companies. They have all worked hard to live up to their reputation and the expectations placed on them, that she does not doubt, but perhaps Miheone has a point. They have very little in the way of support outside a handful of small merchants and some well-placed friends.

Until now, she had thought their situation to be fine. As much as she wants to write Miheone’s suggestion off as based in paranoia, she has seen how successful Hahette’s company is. In many ways, she enviesit. Hahette doesn’t need _any_ single sponsor to survive, not even the Scion’s connections to the Grand Companies. If anything, she suspects Hahette uses those missions solely to give Lyse’s “Mhigan minions” experience.

In turn, General Aldynn sends Hahette mission requests nearly as frequently as he does the Scions; his respect earned by the company’s acceptance and training of refugees. She has to wonder if Hahette is more skilled at political maneuvering than she previously suspected, or if she’s simply that lucky.

“If I have passed your test, are you going to cease with the pointless flirting?” she asks Miheone when she returns from her inspection.

Her friend and, she supposes, _mentor_ , scoffs. “Didn’t I tell you?” Miheone walks to the edge of her bed and bends over, reaching down to rest a finger under her chin. Everything about her posture and expression _radiates_ confidence and charm, to such a degree that puts even Thancred to shame. Or maybe she’s simply biased.

Confused - _captivated_ \- she offers no resistance - _is unable to_ \- as Miheone lowers her face to hers. She hovers just above her, their noses brushing and breath mingling, stuttered though her breathing is. Her mind, heart, and body are frozen, unable to function with the closeness.

Few have ever been this close to her, and none whose sole intention is to demonstrate blatant sexual interest. What does she want to do? Push her away? Kiss her? She can’t decide and that frightens her.

Oblivious to her inner battle, Miheone whispers, “ _When I flirt, I mean it._ ” The husky tone of her voice sends shivers down her spine, but true coldness comes when the woman backs off, humming while she spins away to deal with her own luggage. “Rest, Minfilia. You’ll need it for tomorrow.”

She absently mumbles an agreement, or something resembling one. Her thoughts whirling from all that was revealed, it is many bells before the sound of Miheone’s light breathing and the wildlife outdoors to lure her to sleep.

**22\. Mother Nature**

Lyse sighs, smacking a bug that had the audacity to land on her. The sound of the slap is loud in the clearing she is keeping watch over, though she is sitting at the edge of it. Blood and bug guts leave a thin trail on her arm, and she sighs again. “You know, when they promised me a vacation, I imagined a lot more sleeping. And food. And time with Shtola.”

Vochstein twists to look at her, his body contorting oddly. He has been passing the time by resting on his back, observing the creatures in the trees above them and narrating what facts he knows of them to her. _“Are you not having fun, mother? I thought you enjoyed ruins.”_

“I enjoy _exploring_ them. Sitting on a log for bells on end isn’t very fun. And it’s gross out here,” she complains. Not unfairly, in her opinion. The jungle is humid, the air wet and sticky to the point where she would feel dryer if she jumped into a river. It's disgusting, and she would happily cut their trip short if it means she gets to take a proper bath _before_ she turns into a puddle of sweat.

_“Do you think mother and aunt Mhitra will spend much time underground?”_

“We’ll be lucky if they remember to come back before tomorrow,” she says grumpily. It isn’t an exaggeration; twice before Shtola has lost track of time while investigating ruins, leaving her to stand guard -alone- for an entire day or longer. Mhitra has the same bad habit, so putting them together doesn’t really inspire hope that she will escape the jungle anytime soon.

_“I see. Perhaps we can investigate the edges of the clearing? To ensure our safety?”_ Vochstein rolls to his feet, dirt and grass clinging to his now stained feathers. His tail wags and his ears are perked up in his version of a begging look. 

She should resist the urge to give in, but she’s bored and doesn’t want to disappoint her son. Even if the idea of _moving_ in this weather is more disgusting than sitting for another several bells. “You’re getting bored too, aren’t you? As long as we keep within hearing range, we should all be fine. Those warding spells are no joke, as expected of _those_ two,” she boasts.

Not that Vochstein needs convincing that his mother and aunt are the best ever. If they counted his gaining a soul as his “birth,” then he was born with the certainty that his family can do anything and everything they put their mind to.

Hahette claims that his belief is simply the unwavering trust that all children have in their parents.

Shtola, Mhitra, and Papalymo swear that it’s his Hext side that is the cause of it.

_“Do you think there is a stream nearby?”_ he asks while he follows her past the treeline. _“I hope there are more creatures. I cannot see those in the trees well, but they are very colorful! Do you think they are friendly? Did you not say there are big cats here? Are_ they _friendly?”_

She cringes. “They’re coeurls, and if we’re lucky we won’t see one. They definitely aren’t friendly. They nearly took your tail off once!”

Vochstein flies onto a low branch and settles, facing her. _“I do not recall this. I have fought a coeurl?”_

“Once, and it was three years ago. Before atomos.” Before he had a soul. His memories of the time before are hazy and incomplete, and none stretch back farther than their move to Vylbrand.

_“Oh.”_

They continue their stroll, Vochstein asking questions and delighting in the flowers, bushes, and vines that the come across. Humidity aside, she enjoys the walk immensely; she doesn’t get nearly enough time to be with Vochstein and Vochstein alone since they moved back home. Her son basks in the attention, alternating between asking questions about their environment, questions of his past, and begging for stories of their family and friends until night has fallen and they -she, mostly- stumble their way around the ruins.

Shtola and Mhitra are waiting for them when they return, both looking ready to scold them for wandering off without notifying them. Before they can start, Vochstein rushes over to them and drops flower crowns on their heads with as much dignity as he can muster.

_“Now you match mother and I!”_ he declares excitedly, puffing his chest out to emphasise his own flower necklace.

The scholars both sigh, scoldings halted in the face of such cuteness.

Shtola gives her a subtle glare, promising a private _talk_ later, but her tone is indulgent when she says to Vochstein, “Let us return to the inn. I’ve a spell that will ensure the flowers last well beyond their natural life.”

Listening to Vochstein share all the interesting things he had seen during their adventure, she decides that getting in trouble is totally worth the joy it brought her son.

_“And then a coeurl tried to eat mother, so she kicked it into a tree! Then the tree fell onto a big toad, and it attacked the mean coeurl.”_

Laughing nervously she pointedly keeps her gaze forward as Shtola’s glare returns. _That_ part, he could have kept to himself.

**23\. Cat**

Saemundr does _not_ like to lie. He isn’t very good at it even if he wanted to. But over the last sennight, he has been, well, not _lying_ , exactly. More like...avoiding the truth. He isn’t sure why, because his family is nice, and caring, and always willing to help others.

This, however, might be more than they’re willing to put up with.

“Meow.”

The single meow leads to a chorus of them as the five kittens are alerted to his presence by their mother.

“I’m sorry I’m late today,” he apologizes, sitting next to the nest of leaves and grass he has made for the cats. The white cat doesn’t understand his words, of course, but he doesn’t care. He usually comes by with dinner for the mother cat bells earlier than this. His errand today had run longer than expected, and he _had_ to stay since he was promised money. Money that he needs to buy food for the nursing cat. He hates to leave them, worried about a wild animal attacking them even though he added protection to the tiny cave they live in.

“Having to make money to support children is _hard_ ,” he laments to the animals. “I’ll never be upset at my family for missing a nameday ever again. Now lets get your fish chopped up some more.”

“So _this_ is why you’ve been so eager to help Hahette lately.”

He screams and whirls, butter knife in a defensive position just like his family taught him.

Yda laughs.

He pouts.

The cats cry for attention.

“Hey, uh. Mom. I,” he stutters, fidgeting with the knife.

“Don’t bother,” Yda says, strolling over to his side and kneeling to take a closer look at the meowing cats. “We both know Mhitra has an antagonistic relationship with most animals. What you _don’t_ know is that the rest of us could care less. Pack up that fish. We can feed them at home.”

He obeys without hesitation. The cats are collected and his makeshift shelter taken apart quickly. Yda has her hands full with the kittens, who do their best to climb up her arm and investigate her shirt. She doesn’t seem to be annoyed by the little claws digging into her shirt and skin. One kitten makes it up to her shoulder and settles there, meowing with every step she takes. Yda coos at it, warning it to be careful as it wobbles from her strides. Maybe he should have brought the cats home sooner, if she likes them so much. His mom has been sad since Orella left. He can tell, no matter how much she tries to hide it, that she is constantly worried about her girlfriend, who returned to the Resistance in Gyr Abania.

Mhitra isn’t pleased when they walk into the house with an armful of cats, but Raf all but throws her book aside in her eagerness to hold a kitten. The noise draws Fang out from the kitchen, their old cat drawn out by the cries of the kittens.

“We can’t possibly keep them all, I hope you two know,” Mhitra sighs.

That is something he expected, but when Ava is the only one in the Spirits capable of caring for a kitten, that leaves him with four kittens and full grown cat to find a home for.

Which, to his shame, leaves him no choice but to lie again the very next day.

“Hi! I’m here to see Lieutenant Rhiki. Spirit delivery.”

The Maelstrom soldier blinks down at him, eyes barely visible from how low her tall hat has slipped down her head. He feels bad, because she seemed to be sleeping, but then again, she _is_ supposed to be working. What if her boss caught her napping on the job? It would probably be bad.

“Spirit, eh? They sure are hiring young these days. How old are you? Eight?” the woman drawls, making no move to show that she wants to help.

“I’m eleven!” he corrects immediately, offended at the estimation of his age. Then, remembering where he is and who he’s talking to, he swallows nervously and tries his best to look innocent. “...I’m a Hext?”

The soldier perks up. “Oh! Like Lyse? That makes sense, then. Her office is up one level, fourth door on the right.”

Thanking her as calmly as possible, he hurries off to find Lyse’s friend. His intrusion is given no notice, the few soldiers about ignoring him as they rush through the halls. It’s weird, in a way. He thought it would be busier, since the Maelstrom is in charge of protecting all of Vylbrand. Maybe everyone is out patrolling or something?

When R’ashaht yells for him to enter after he knocks, he slips into her room and, hoping to avoid her questions, blurts out, “Can I give Lhinah a kitten?”

R’ashaht stares at him, chin resting on her palm and her other hand idly twirling a pen. “Sure,” she says after an uncomfortable half a minute. “That’s a great idea. Smart thinking, Sae.”

He crosses his arms and smiles proudly.

“But were you given permission to skip your afternoon lessons to come and find me?”

“Uh.”

“If Yda doesn’t find out, she’ll never hear it from me.”

He leaves with a hasty goodbye and bow, sparing only a wave for the bored soldier that let him in as he rushes back to school. Even if he does get caught, it was worth the trouble. Another kitten has a home, and Lhinah has a warm, furry friend he can keep with him at night.

A sennight later, Miheone claims a kitten for herself, and one is taken to Little Ala Mhigo. Mhitra, initially so insistent that they find homes for _all_ the cats, speaks of it less and less as time passes. He thinks it has something to do with how the mother cat has claimed Mhitra as her favorite person, and the kitten only leaves Raf’s side to eat.

“You two are old enough to take care of them, so I expect you to do so.”

He nods eagerly, Raf doing the same beside him.

Yda, however, scoffs from the couch in the living room. “Says the one who already has five different outfits for her _precious Selene_.”

“... _Anyway_ ,” Mhitra says, coughing and looking away from them, “we’ll need food for them, and proper beds, and toys to keep them from destroying our furniture.”

“I sure hope Hahette doesn’t mind the addition of a cat to your bed at night.”

**24\. No Time**

_There are bad days, and then there are Bad Days. Today, right now, is worse than either of those._

_“Hush, Lyse. We have to be quiet!”_

_Lyse settles on the bed, clutching the blanket she meant to put in their bag to her chest and watching them in fear. She knows her baby sister just wants to help, but they have no time to be indulgent._

_There are screams from outside, and the sounds of blades clashing,and mom curses._

_“Forget it. You’ve enough.”_

_“You,” not “we.”_

_She gets out a strangled, “No,” before Lyse is shoved into her arms._

_“There’s no time, my loves. Stay here. You’ll know when to run.”_

_Her mouth refuses to open, her legs refuse to move forward. The world spins nauseatingly and she can’t do anything but_ watch her mother rush out to her death _._

_“Momma?”_

_She flinches at Lyse’s confused question. “We have to go, Lyse.”_

_“But-”_

_“We have to go!” Her tone is harsh, but they don’t have time for explanations. Putting Lyse down, she turns, crouches, and orders her onto her back. She has a feeling she’ll need her arms free for more than holding their bag of supplies._

_“Sorry, Yda. I’m out of time too.”_

_Startled, she looks behind her. Lyse, 20 years old and wearing her favorite mask and vest outfit, smiles at her softly._

_“I love you.”_

_She spins and reaches out frantically, but even as she screams, her sister explodes into a million crystal shards._

“NO!”

Bolting up, arm reaching out for her sister, she blinks. The image of crystal fragments tearing apart the world fades slowly, replaced by the dull walls of her Gridanian inn room. Her ragged breathing drowns out all noise but the pounding of her heart and the echoes of her dream.

_“There’s no time.”_

Falling back against the bed, she curls up on her side, drawing the blanket back over her. She doesn’t care that she’s sweating and likely feverish. She just wants a barrier between her and the world.

A world that is shattered by the fury of an ancient eikon.

A world filled with pain and suffering.

A world without Lyse.

The tears can’t be stopped, not that she bothers to try anymore. Two moons, and still she cries herself to sleep every night, still wakes up sobbing from nightmares bells later. Sleep is rare, true rest is rarer still. She doesn’t know how long she can keep this up, this lack of sleep while pushing herself to the limit helping Gridania recover.

Sometimes, she wonders if she even wants to keep up this facade.

Sometimes, she wonders if she even wants to keep living.

Eventually, the sobbing slows and she has the presence of mind to take her letter from home from it’s spot underneath her pillow. Clutching it to her chest - _like Lyse used to hold her old blanket, or Vochstein_ \- she pictures Mhitra, Shtola, Sae, and Raf. Remembers Papalymo sleeping in the next room. They are her family too, she reminds herself whenever she starts feeling too hopeless.

They’re family too, and she’ll glue together what few pieces of her heart are left for them. For them and them alone.

**25\. Trouble Lurking**

Sea wolves never let a grudge die until the offender pays back in full.

Miheone may only be a half blood, but holding grudges comes naturally to her all the same.

_Especially_ when the offenders had attempted to drug her, then stolen her gear and bag when it didn’t work.

Following the badly hidden trail that the thieves left behind, she smirks while debating on how many different ways she wants to rip them apart. They’re obviously unskilled, or just skilled enough to be overconfident. They spoke openly of their plans all night in the tavern, then made camp in a section of the Twelveswood that provides any would-be ambusher plenty of dark corners -figuratively speaking- to hide in.

The group is determined to make itself out to be in the “obviously unskilled” category, as she can hear their camp long before she can see the shadows of its flames through the trees. No guard is spotted in _two bells_ of lurking. Thankful as she is that her vengeance shall be swift and effortless, part of her is offended at being brought low by a bunch of flea-bitten _curs_.

‘ _Another half a bell, and they’ll be so deep into their cups that I won’t even need my weapon_ ,’ she thinks disdainfully. ‘ _Just another ha-_ ’

Someone from the camp screams, immediately followed by _more_ screaming.

Green adventurer she may be, but she knows the sounds of an ambush when she hears them. Foregoing any notion of stealth, she bolts into the camp, taking out three of the gang before she spots the disturbance.

It’s a young -though still older than her- woman. Elezen, with a height that matches her own, auburn hair that reaches to her waist, and a very sharp, very long sword.

All of that is impressive, and slightly intimidating, as it’s obvious this is a veteran warrior she’s dealing with. She may have bulk on her side, but she has a feeling that it is her only advantage, and it isn’t a very good one either.

Just one problem.

_No one gets to steal her revenge._

“Hey! Hey, no! I got here first!” she snarls, kicking away a Hyuran idiot that tried charging at her.

The woman glances over at her without pausing in her swings, casually deflecting a spear and disarming her assailant in one smooth move.

‘ _Oh, that was nice. Wait! No complimenting the competition damn it!_ ’

“Seems to me I was here first,” the intruder says with a confident smirk that makes her want to ignore the gang in favor of _strangling her_. With her own hair, maybe.

A fist is dodged, the owner crying out when she kicks him in the ribs. “I don’t give a damn what you think! Go away! I’ve got a bone to pick with these morons, and your presence is unwanted!”

“Maybe you should have acted sooner, sprout, if you’re so passionate about exacting revenge.”

“I was waiting for them to get drunk off their asses! And what did you call me?”

“Ah, so you’re overly cautious, or a coward.”

“Excuse me? I am _no_ coward! I merely wanted to give these damn thieves a taste of their own medicine!”

They stop, silence falling in the camp. The only sound is their heavy breathing.

The woman examines her up and down, squinting and humming. “Sprout. Means new adventurer. Which you definitely are. Got skills though. I can appreciate that. As well as your reason for being here. This bounty is worth more than your hurt feelings, however. By the way, thanks for the help. You can keep whatever you find.”

And then she walks away. 

Blinking, she realizes that the entire gang is dead or nearly so, blood soaking into the dirt.

“Who the seven hells are you?” she shouts after the adventurer.

The woman looks over her shoulder and waves. “Hahette Prusair! Hope to see you around, sprout!”

“Don’t call me a sprout!”

Her only answer is fading laughter.

**26\. Tears**

The company house in Limsa is a fairly noisy place, with adventurers running about at all hours, or drinking, or partying, or arguing, or sparring.

Frankly, to someone who has become used to an empty, _quiet_ , house, it’s rather overwhelming. But there are the rare times when the entire company is traveling abroad on various missions, and while she would normally be one of that number -the Son’s have many requests for an Eorzean agent, she discovered soon after moving- this sennight, she is home watching the children.

_Alone_. Never did she think she would appreciate silence more than after her meetings at the Studium.

“Mhitra?”

Ears twitching, she opens her eyes and rolls her head along the arm of the sinfully soft couch in the company basement to face the voice. Halfway down the stairs is Raforta, holding her arm with a pained expression. She is instantly at alert. Children are not her area of expertise by any means, but after years of watching over Lyse, she knows well the signs of a child holding back tears.

Sitting up, she asks softly, “What happened?”

Raf sniffles, but holds her shoulders high. “I fell out of bed.”

She has to beckon the child before she climbs down the rest of the stairs. Raforta and Saemundr have been in Eorzea -and therefore part of Hahette’s household- for over two moons now, yet they remain reluctant to impose on the adults around them, unsure of where their boundaries lay. Throwing them into a household as lively as the company house was a risk after the harrowing journey across the wall, and they have been watching them carefully to ensure they do not get overwhelmed.

Thus far, the children have kept their composure, but as Raf trembles at her side, she sees the cracks in her emotions starting to make themselves known. None of them imagined the children would perfectly adjust to their new living situation right away, yet she still feels unprepared and unsure of how to handle the topic. It had been much easier with Lyse, who only needed food, encouragement, and the occasional letter from Shtola to keep her spirits high.

By the time her examination is complete and the hand iced and wrapped, Raf is leaning against her side, fighting to stay awake. Taking pity on the girl, she brushes her hair fondly and easily lifts her into her arms. Raf mumbles something unintelligible, losing her battle to keep her eyes open and settling into her arms within moments.

It strikes her then, how _small_ Raf is. Her experiences with children are limited to Lyse almost exclusively, and there is a large difference between carrying an eleven year old martial arts prodigy and a four year old girl. She shudders at the memories of carrying a slumbering Lyse upstairs to her room during the sennights that preceded Shtola’s first visit to Sharlayan since the move.

Sae is sleeping peacefully when she enters their room, the boy sprawled out on the bed with his blanket half off. Shaking her head and smiling ruefully, she tucks Raf in, fixes Sae’s blanket, and takes her exit.

When she wakes up the next morning, Raf is curled up at her side, clinging to her sleeve. She makes no comment when the girl sedately follows her around the entire day, helping her as best she can with her single uninjured arm, and quietly coloring when she requires no help.

Once again, she falls asleep alone; once again, she wakes to find Raf sleeping beside her.

One sennight. That is how long it takes for Raf to have her first nightmare while sharing her bed. The poor girl breaks down sobbing in her arms after waking with a scream, hugging her with all the strength she can muster until she succumbs to the mental exhaustion and falls asleep again. It may be the first time, but she knows it won’t be the last.

And she resolves to be there for every nightmare and every tear.

**27\. Foreign**

_“Me ‘n Yda don’t need much space, Mr. Shorty. I promise.”_

_“...It’s Papalymo.”_

_“Huh? I already have a papa, Mr. Lymo.”_

_“No. That is_ not _. ….Nevermind. Back to the topic at hand.”_

She hates Sharlayan.

Hates how clean and white and _pure_ the colony is.

Hates how they sneer at the dirty - _savage_ \- refugees that shamble into their pristine city.

Hates how the weight of their stares disturbs her baby sister, who tightens her grip on her neck and buries her head against her neck. Rhalgr, as if they haven’t suffered enough as it is. If they weren’t being promised housing and food, she thinks she would prefer to keep living in the woods.

She may hate Sharlayan, but Lyse needs a warm place to live, so she’ll endure whatever she must to take care of her sister, just like her parents asked her to. A five year old needs more than two small meals a day, needs more than a cold cave and threadbare clothes that barely fit anymore.

Needs more than a traumatized fifteen year old to take care of her. 

“Are we going to live here, Yda?” Lyse asks sedately. Normally, her sister is a cheerful, energetic kid, but the moons of living off the land, slowly but surely moving further away from home, have taken their toll on her. Lyse has always been skinny, but now she is _too_ skinny, and too pale, and too prone to nightmares that she is too afraid to share.

Her sister is hurting in _every way imaginable_ and she can’t do a damn thing to help her. Just like she couldn’t help mom, and couldn’t help dad. She couldn’t help anyone at all that mattered _when_ it mattered, just kept running away from the fights, away from the death.

But that stops now, even if it means she has to endure the snobbery of these Sharlayans, has to accept their charity and their pity. Something about the Lalafell’s - _what was his name again? Something weird like Palimo, or is it Palemo?_ \- attitude when he had come to collect them earlier makes her suspect that the Sharlayan’s charity had not been so easily given. She isn’t surprised; Sharlayan is known for their stance on war, and how they consider any who wage it beneath them. The refugees are not scholars, don’t have money, and have few skills worth bringing them into their city for.

Gridania certainly hadn’t had much trouble sending them away for those same reasons.

“We’ll stay for as long as they let us,” she says under her breath. She doesn’t want to lie to her sister, but neither does she want to make her worried. Little girls shouldn’t be worrying about the politics behind their entry into Sharlayan, or whether or not she is going to lose another home, assuming they stay long enough to even consider this place a home.

“Will we have a bed? That would be nice.”

Not food, not sweets, not a blanket, not new clothes, not even a toy. All Lyse wants is a goddamn _bed_ and it takes every last onze of self-control not to hurt someone, _anyone_ , or _anything_ because she hates _everything_. “Didn’t think to ask them, sorry,” she answers, voice trembling from _fear, hurt, rage, despair_.

“Oh. Okay.” Lyse sighs, nuzzles her neck, and asks no more questions.

Lyse should be curious, should be flitting around their group, investigating the streets, the buildings, the people, the stray animals -that she will inevitably want to keep- and asking for food. Instead, she rests against her back, falling asleep in broad daylight, uninterested in anything but being near the only family she has left. Her sister remains passive during their walk through the city, watching without comment as most of their fellow refugees enter the apartment building that will house those particular families.

Their arrangements had been discussed on the way. Figuring out how to separate their group into the available housing options hadn’t been difficult. Families were given the nicer, larger apartments, and the rest of them made their own arrangements. After moons of traveling together, they know who prefers to live together.

None had asked to stay with the daughters of the famous Curtis Hext, and she hadn’t asked anyone to do so.

Her arms are aching unbearably by the time they make it to their apartment. All the others are already gone, settling in for much needed rest. The apartment set aside for Lyse and her is -as _they_ requested- the smallest one, which means it is, per their guide’s worried explanation, in the oldest part of the city. The way he stays aware and alert nearly makes her laugh out loud. The buildings around them are old, maybe, but they are clean, have well kept shrubs at their sides, and no trash litters the ground.

‘ _Is this what Sharlayans consider dangerous?_ ’ she wonders. ‘ _Are they so sheltered that the worst they have ever had to fear are cracking roads and buildings less than pristine?_ ’ 

“A little fan...would be nice.”

She frowns at Lyse’s sluggish words. A fan? Sharlayan is a windy place, and the altitude makes it even colder. Though, now that she thinks about it, Lyse is uncomfortably warm against her, and she has been subdued all day. Perhaps longer, but she has been too preoccupied with the Sharlayans to notice any unusual behavior in her sibling.

“Are you alright, brat?”

“Mhm.”

“...Did you eat today?”

“...Don’t ‘member.”

Lyse, forgetting _food_? Stomach sinking, she nearly curses aloud at the Lalafell’s slow -to her- pace as they ascend the stairs. Their room _would_ be at the third floor, wouldn’t it? There’s no time for this. She needs to get her sister some food and.

Gods, do they even _have_ food? How is she going to get any? She has no money, having used it all to buy supplies during their very short stop in Gridania. And medicine? Does Sharlayan treat their sick with the same teas that her people use? What if they don’t? What if Lyse has a bad reaction to whatever they use? What does Lyse even have? She almost never gets sick, so it must be bad, right? Is it a fever? A cold? A stomach virus? How does one treat a stomach virus? Rhalgr, she doesn’t know how to take care of a kid! She’s just fifteen!

“This is your apartment,” their guide announces, waving his hand at the door. “You. ...Are you well?”

She can’t answer, barely hears the question at all. Her chest hurts and her vision loses focus and her mind races as she wonders _what is she doing here_ and _what was she thinking she can’t do this_ and _why can’t mom or dad be here why did they have to die_?

Something hard hits her head. Blinking, she stares down at the Lalafell, trying and failing to gather her wits.

“The door is unlocked. You’ve blankets aplenty. Keep her covered, even if her fever spikes,” he says kindly. “I’ll return in a bell with soup and tea.”

She nods slowly, head feeling as if it were submerged in molasses. Getting inside the small apartment that is now theirs drains her of her strength, reminds her that she has been running and fighting and struggling for moons and never took the time to rest.

And now. Now her sister is sick and she is _useless_. Powerless.

_‘I can’t do this_.’

She gently lays Lyse on the single bed in the second room, taking off her shoes and jacket, wishing they had pajamas or at least something better than their dirty, torn clothes.

‘ _I can’t do this.’_

She piles all but one of the five blankets they have been given on her now shivering sister.

_‘I can’t do this.’_

She sits on the edge of the bed, staring at the smooth white walls that should be darker and rougher. Examining the empty room that should have old wooden furniture, clothes strewn about, a pile of training gear in the corner, and half-empty cups of coffee forgotten on a slightly lopsided table.

_‘I can’t do this.’_

She brushes Lyse’s hair gently when she whimpers from bad dreams, remembering all the times her mother did so, all the times her father did so, and wishes they were here instead of her.

_‘I can’t do this.’_

Tears drip down her cheeks.

“...But I have to.”

**28\. Sorrow**

“Starting early, are you?”

Hahette chuckles mirthlessly, shaking her head and placing her drink on the table firmly. The clink is unusually loud in the quiet room, though that may be because it is the first noise outside of her own thinking she has paid attention to in several bells. Taking a deep breath, she notes how the room sways at the action. Started early and finished early, it seems. It’s still _light_ outside, and she’s already drunk.

“Not early enough, in my opinion,” she slurs to Y’mhitra. Regardless of her words, she pushes her drink away and drops her head on the table. Her actions are clumsy, the drink spilling onto her hand and her head hitting the wood with a thump that might have hurt had she sober.

“...Alright. Come on now.”

She mutters a denial, but then she is being pulled to her feet. Much as she would prefer to stay sitting, the excitement of having Y’mhitra _touching_ her wins out. It doesn’t happen nearly as often as she prefers. Throwing her arm over her friend’s shoulder, she leans her weight against her and allows herself to be led away from the alcohol.

“Mmm. I love your nurturing nature, but you might be a tad short for this, yes?” Her foot smacks the corner of the hallway, making them both stumble while she reflexively mutters, “Ow.” Not that it hurts, in her condition. “What if I smash you?”

“Quiet, or I drop you.”

The threat draws a laugh out of her. “You wouldn’t be so cruel to a suffering woman.”

“I wouldn’t?”

She blinks, the world sways, and the arm around her waist tightens. “You would,” she acquiesces. “But, ah, only should the scoundrel deserve such treatment, and _I_. I do not. I am no scoundrel! Miheone lies. I did not steal her kill. Or her other kill. Or that one bounty. Or her socks! ...Oh. Hm. Definitely stole her armguards. And yes, my sword should _technically_ be hers, but she _destroyed my hair_. It was only fair that I got something out of that disaster. ...Wait, what are we talking about?”

“Oh dear. Was that bottle full when you started drinking?”

“Ah! I _did_ steal her bottle! She always gets the good stuff. Very good stuff. Strong stuff. Or do _I_ get it? I pay her, she pays for alcohol. It’s _half_ mine. In a way. ...Could you, maybe, make the world stop for a moment? It’s hard to _walk_ like this.”

Y’mhitra sighs as they stumble into a room. Squinting away the double visions as best she can, she slowly realizes that they’re in her room.

“Oh. Now this is a dream I haven’t had in a while.”

“You dream of being a drunkard?”

Offended, she huffs. “Gods forbid. Why would I want to be Miheone? Is that unfair to say? She has improved over the last year. Hey,” she pouts when Y’mhitra moves away, her jacket, belt, and shoes in hand. Now when had that happened? Hadn’t they just been at the door? Had her eyes been closed? Why won’t the world stop spinning? “You forgot my shirt. That’s not how this goes.”

Y’mhitra drops her clothes in the corner and gives her an odd look over her shoulder. “What are you-oh. No! No no no. This isn’t a. You dream about me? What am I saying of course you do. Please go to sleep. Just. Please. For both our sakes. You’re already going to have a few regrets in the morning. Assuming you remember this.”

“I’m fine,” she protests. Y’mhitra appears at her side, pushing her down. “Would you _stop_ teleporting? Unless you can do that to clothes? It’s rather hot. Almost as hot as you are.”

“ _Go to sleep_.”

“I don’t wanna,” she complains. Sleep is the last thing she wants or needs. Even if she has been up for. For. How long? A day? Two? It doesn’t matter. “I’m fine.”

“Clearly.” Y’mhitra pushes the blanket back. She means to protest again, but there is a hand brushing away her hair from her face and it’s comforting, and very cool against her exceptionally warm skin. “I won’t ask what drove you to this, but if you need to talk in the morning, I will be here for you.”

Had she any control of her limbs, or the energy to muster, she would have grabbed the hand and held it to her face. As it is, she can feel the weight of exhaustion -and several cups of alcohol- leeching her strength. “There were children!” she blurts out instead.

Y’mhitra pauses, hand lingering at her forehead, but she barely notices through the hazy memories assaulting her. Memories that she had wanted to forget completely, at least for the day.

“They screamed, Y’mhitra. They. They _screamed_. We couldn’t. I couldn’t do anything but _watch_. Goddamn fish bastards. Goddamn Leviathan. They were just children!”

She doesn’t realize she is crying until tears are being wiped from her cheeks, doesn’t realize Y’mhitra is crawling under the covers until there are arms around her. Holding her. Protecting her.

_“I have you.”_

**29\. Happiness**

Mornings start with one of his mothers; mother Lyse gathering them all in her arms, or mother Shtola stroking his feathers and mother’s arms. How soon they leave bed has always been determined by which of them wakes up first, but lately - _after his breakdown_ \- his mothers are more than content to linger in bed together, speaking of nothing important, touching each other in gentle, loving ways that they never used to. He misses their morning walks, but he admits that this is better.

Eventually, they leave bed for breakfast and play. Mhitra usually has breakfast ready, but it isn’t strange to find Hahette cooking in the kitchen either. Today, it is the latter. Hahette is humming as she cooks pancakes, Mhitra hugging her mate from behind. He greets them excitedly, then settles on the counter with Selene. The female cat often seeks him out to sleep or play with. He had once named himself her older brother, and though his family teases him for it, they have taken to referring to her as his sister. He takes his self-appointed duties as older sibling very seriously; he may not feel the pressure of the cat, but if she has decided that he makes a comfortable pillow, then he shall be the best pillow there is.

“Ugh, you two are gross.”

“Oh, hush, Yda. Need I remind you about what _I_ walked into that-”

“It’s your own fault for not knocking!”

Hahette scoffs and points the spatula in her hand at his mothers. “You’re whining about us when _they’re_ in the room?”

Mother Lyse is the only one to protest; mother Shtola rather pointedly pulls her close and kisses her neck, proving Hahette’s point.

“Ugh. I need normal people around.”

“You mean Orella.”

“Of course I mean Orella.”

The adults chat, Selene nestles under his wing, and soon Sae stumbles in, searching for food. Yda gives him a hug, teasing him for his wild hair and wide yawns, but he smiles and leans into her because Yda is his _hero_. Yda, who helped him heal after their move. Yda, who trains him. Yda, who proudly wears all of his homemade scarves and gloves and hats.

“Is that hair or a bird nest? I think you need a trim.”

“Yours is worse in the morning!”

“Yeah, but I know what a brush is.”

Mother Shtola once said Yda was inattentive to mother Lyse back in Sharlayan, leaving her alone often for her job and schooling, then mostly leaving her with Mhitra after she became an Archon. Mother Lyse had shrugged and said that she is glad Yda learned to be an amazing mom.

Sae eats his pancakes without much talking. It’s difficult to talk when his mouth is never empty. Mother Shtola and Mhitra claim that he eats like a Hext. He thinks it inaccurate; his mother and aunt chew _their_ food.

“Ahk!”

“Sae! Ew! That went in my drink!”

“The food isn’t going anywhere, kid. Would it kill you to chew for once?”

“It appears that _not_ chewing is going to be his downfall.”

Raforta -with Pepper in her arms- sneaks in without drawing attention to herself, casually sneaking cookies onto her plate of pancakes and bacon. Hahette just as casually swipes the cookies for herself when his sister walks by. It is a battle that Raf has never won but never gives up. He doesn’t think Hahette minds the excuse to eat cookies early in the morning, or that Mhitra minds, as she always takes some of the sweets from her mate’s hand.

Their small table is crowded. Mother Lyse, Yda, and Sae have not bothered with plates, choosing to fold up their pancakes and eat them by hand, much to the exasperation of mother Shtola. Hahette picks at the plate of food next to the stove, Mhitra and Raf neatly cut their pancakes into bite-sized portions, and mother Shtola sips at her tea. Mother does not often eat in the mornings, settling for a warm beverage and some sweet bread if she is particularly hungry.

It is so very rare for all his family to be home at once, and rarer still that they eat breakfast together. It isn’t complete, not without Orella, but for one morning at least, they are nearly whole, they are safe, and they are _happy_.

“Raf, what did we say about feeding Pepper syrup?”

“It’s only a little bit!”

“Nothing wrong with a treat, Mhitra. The cat’ll live. Probably.”

“... _Probably_?”

“What do you mean, probably? It’s fine, right? It’s just syrup!”

“Eh. ...Probably.”

**30\. Under the Rain**

Miheone has never been the type to brood, much less in solitude, _in the rain_ , as if she were an angsty teenager whining about some puppy love. She doesn’t have much of a choice, however, to be doing said things. Her head aches from the very long, very loud mission she returned from this morning, and so _of course_ it is the day her minions decide to clean the company office from top to bottom, leaving no corner undusted. The Waking Sands is no option either. Minfilia’s recruitment efforts over the years have paid off handsomely, and the Scion’s headquarters is lively more often than not.

With her head pounding and her eyes aching from pain, she doesn’t feel like determining first-hand if today is a normal day there. All she wants is some peace, quiet, and warm tea for the pain.

The only truly peaceful place near Vesper’s Bay is a picturesque cliff that overlooks the town. So what if it’s sprinkling out? That doesn’t stop the people in town, doesn’t stop the fishers on the dock, doesn’t stop the shops from doing business, and it doesn’t stop her from getting her space.

“A little water never hurt anyone, and it feels good.”

Someone with light footsteps and weighty clothes sighs behind her. “At least wear a jacket,” Minfilia scolds lightly.

She means to deliver a smart-ass reply, but she catches the sound of something unfolding, and then there is a blanket around her shoulders. Before she can recover from the surprise -and appreciation of the warmth- Minfilia drops next to her, the action ungraceful and, dare she say, _lazy_.

“This isn’t usually the sort of weather that draws people out to admire the view.”

“But it’s such a good view,” she says, pulling Minfilia under her arm and the safety of the blanket. She likes the way it feels, having her friend at her side. Minfilia is a relaxing presence with a smooth voice that does not irritate her headache. Not that she is ever irritating, except when she begins to doubt her abilities, question her worthiness, or steal food off her plate.

She forgives the food theft, if only because the damned woman forgets to eat far too often.

“Rough mission?”

“Not particularly. Dealing with the clients gave me a nasty headache, one that was made worse by a tap to the head.”

Minfilia tuts, immediately grumbling about what she considers a “tap” and how she should have gone to Y’shtola for relief. It’s cute how much she fusses when she isn’t in her “leader” mode. The first time she had witnessed the sight, she had laughed and teased Minfilia about how adorable it was to know she cared. She was given a glare that was more a pout, and she had laughed harder.

It has been a year and a half since her move to Vesper’s Bay, but she still finds it easy to make Minfilia blush. When her “apprentice” is meeting with merchants and other various representatives she is the picture of professionalism; no blushing, no great displays of emotions, and a poker face that would make Hahette proud. It makes _her_ proud. Give it another year, and she will be a force to be reckoned with on the free company scene.

When it’s the two of them alone -and they are alone quite often- Minfilia is casual, relaxed, and eager to commiserate about the morons she must meet with, or the reckless fools she must lead. It’s a far cry from her attitude when they first met, when she was perpetually shy, blushing, or irritated with her presence.

Granted, blushing and irritation are simply less frequent, rather than a permanent reaction.

“You wouldn’t happen to know someone willing to adopt a kitten, would you?” Minfilia asks out of the blue. “Yda needs to rehome some they found. I would take one myself, but some of the Scions are allergic or outright hate the creatures.”

She shrugs and thinks over the question. A cat? Her parents had never allowed her a pet, and adventuring had made the ownership of one difficult. These days, however, she spends more time at her desk than not. “You know, that sounds like a great idea. It would be nice to have something cute around. When you aren’t there, of course.”

Minfilia groans and pushes her with her shoulder. Not that it has any effect on her much larger and heavier person.

“Do you ever give up?”

“I only speak the truth! But no, I do not.” She fully intends on continuing her teasing, but at that moment a great crack of thunder sounds overhead, the sky lighting up as lightning races across it in jagged branches.

“Oh dear.”

And then it starts pouring.

After that, it’s a race to get back to the safety and warmth of the Spirit building, which is nearest to the tunnel entrance. She ought to be annoyed or displeased at mother nature turning against her, but with Minfilia holding her hand and the two of them laughing as they run through the rain, it’s difficult to be anything less than utterly content.


	4. 31-40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rushed to get this out before Shadowbringers takes over my life. Enjoy!
> 
> Also, #39 is the reason the rating has been bumped up.

**31\. Flowers**

Not once in her life has Hahette claimed to be religious. Her acknowledgement of the gods is limited to the occasional curse when life plays its games at her expense or an absent thanks when things turn out well in dicey situations. The same can be said of many adventurers.

Yet she did not think twice about building a shrine in their backyard once the mess of the Calamity settled enough to give them breathing room. As in, half a year after the fateful day that saw her little family decimated, along with Eorzea itself. It won't be here for long. She has a mind to take the recently vacated mansion on the other side of the district, and the shrine will move with them.

"I suppose it's fortunate that you did not have time to build the shrine immediately after the Calamity," Mhitra says, referring to the not-so-dead Lyse that is recovering at the shiny new headquarters of the shiny new organization, the Scions of the Seventh Dawn.

She hums softly in agreement. The pile of flowers has grown in the three days that the shrine has been up. There aren’t many left in her company, but some of their neighbors had stopped by with flowers to pay their respects.

"I had never planned on starting a free company, when I started adventuring. Wanted nothing to do with all the paperwork and working with other people that it entails."

No, she had been perfectly happy to keep to herself back then, wandering from job to job, finding new weapons and avoiding all the hassle that came with guild memberships. Her Sharlayan connections got her plenty of work until her reputation was built up. It meant too many expedition guard jobs than she liked, but it allowed her to skip all the Adventurer’s Guild nonsense that most new adventurers had to rely on.

Sometimes, when the paperwork starts piling up, or her minions start acting up, she misses the carefree days when she wandered throughout Eorzea. No responsibilities, no paperwork, no friends - _family_ \- to mourn when the world turns upside down in the wake of an ancient dragon’s fury.

“What changed?” Y’mhitra asks curiously.

“You,” she answers without hesitation. “And Lyse. We all knew the kid was never meant for the Circle, but she needed something more stable than me alone. You would never have been at ease if she had no home, and I didn’t much care for any of the companies I had worked with before. It made sense to start my _own_ company, at that point.”

That’s the simple explanation, and one that Y’mhitra accepts with a rueful smile. What she doesn’t say is that those moons all but living in the Hext-Rhul household, being dragged into the craziness that is those women and their lives, had changed her. How could she return to long stretches of traveling alone, after moons of constant companionship? How could she endure lonely nights, after moons of long evenings spent listening to Y’mhitra’s mutterings, Lyse’s ever-present footsteps, or the chirping of Vochstein? She had gotten a taste of what having a true _family_ felt like, and she couldn’t leave as if it meant nothing to her; couldn’t take Lyse from that without offering something to make up for it. Three people was all she needed, and it was only by the grace of the twelve that she knew of three others who wanted to escape the shackles of the Adventurer's Guild.

Avaldr had the family thing down to an art form, due the defunct orphanage that he struggled to support.

Miheone was rough around the edges, slow to trust but also loyal and boisterous.

Tragzhirn doted on his sister more than he did his beloved weapon, and had a soft spot for young, headstrong adventurers.

A hand grasping her own startles her. "You will rebuild."

“Eventually, yes. It will be difficult to find those who fit well with our particular group, but I doubt we will lack for applications.”

“If only there existed peoples who are known to be hard workers, admirable warriors, _and_ respect you and yours for feats other than your quest completion record,” Y’mhitra says, her statement trailing off that she may follow the path her mind is taking.

“The Mhigans?” she asks. “That…”

Is a terrible idea.

Is a difficult idea.

Is...a sensible idea.

And Y’mhitra knows it, judging by the smug expression on her face as she watches her think it through.

The refugees of Little Ala Mhigo train extensively, according to Lyse and Yda. She is aware of, and has helped facilitate, Yda’s efforts to get her stubborn countrymen to spread out into Eorzea and work. Three refugees are - _were_ \- counted amongst their number, and she approved of their work ethic. Even better, the refugees hold little to no allegiance to the city-states and their grand companies.

Staring down at the names of those she has lost, she recalls the hard eyes of the refugees and the desperation for something, _anything_ better than the lot the gods have thrown at them. It will be impossible to truly replicate her company of old, but all things must change with time.

“It seems I shall need to have a chat with Gundobald.”

**32\. Night**

“Mreow.”

Yda is startled out of her dozing when Fang jumps on top of her stomach with only his meow as a warning. He isn’t heavy, but the damn cat catches his claws into her shirt as he makes himself comfortable.

“Stupid cat,” she says lazily.

Fang stretches out on top of her, his claws uncomfortably close to her lips.

“Go away.”

He doesn’t leave. She doesn’t move to make him. She is far too comfortable on this hammock that Hahette had strung up for them on the side of the house. It’s her day off, and it’s too hot to train, so she’s allowed to laze about if she wants. There’s something very meditative about listening to the ocean waves, the birds calling to each other, and her neighbors going about their business.

“Do you two plan on lazing about for the rest of the day?”

“Mhm.”

Fang yawns.

Mhitra sighs, but walks away muttering that she will call her for dinner but once. Mhitra has been busy lately, delving into some ancient Allagan nonsense that the Sons had dug up in Mor Dhona. When she isn’t out researching in Gridania, she is buried by books in their own study. It’s rare to see her out and about, something that really only occurs when food is involved. Hahette has been glum lately, her mate’s constant absence taking a toll on her mood. She knows that Hahette hasn’t spoken about her emotions, as proud as she is about the progress Mhitra has been making.

“Mom! I wanted to leave lessons earlier but-”

“I think she’s sleeping, Sae.”

“Ack. Whoops. Uh, come on then.”

Ah, Sae and R’lhinah. R’ashaht’s brother is a frequent visitor during the summer season, when the days are long and the children have more time to play. The shy, traumatized child has come a long way from seven years ago. He is still a quiet boy, but that is simply his nature. His mothers had expressed concern that Sae would be overwhelming for the boy, back when they first met.

Their concern had been for naught; Sae had simply handed him Vochstein and showed him how to knit. From that act, they became best friends, and have remained so ever since. They have their share of disagreements of course, as all children do, but never anything that food or a tough training session doesn’t cure them of.

“Hi Yda. Is momma home?”

She grunts and mutters that Mhitra is cooking. She doesn’t know that for sure, but Raf gets home around the time dinner is made. The girl has more lessons than her brother, due to her interest in being an Arcanist. They hadn’t been sure Raf had been serious about her declaration. The extra classes that were required sounded daunting to them all at first. Were it not for Thubyrgeim, who had taken a personal interest in Raf’s studies, the child may never have become so attached to the arcane arts.

Mhitra, already the “parent” that Raf preferred, became her main source of help, acting as a secondary tutor or, well, her mother. It was made more or less official one afternoon when Raf handed her papers to sign and stated, “ They need my mother’s signature and you’re my momma.” Mhitra had been touched, but managed to hold her panic until the children were asleep.

“You alive there, Hext?”

“Tired. Go ‘way”

“Your medic girlfriend won’t be very impressed at your idea of self care.”

“Sleeping _is_ self care.”

Miheone scoffs and idly threatens to tell Minfilia that her minion is a useless layabout, then leaves her in search of food or Hahette.

She likes Miheone, honestly. Hahette’s co-leader is the sterner hand between the two women, careful with her affection yet loyal to death once it is given. Not that she is unfriendly to others by any means; Miheone frequently plays cards with their members, drinks with them, or both, depending on how many can join her games. The tradition carried on over to the Vesper’s Bay office, several Scions eagerly joining in when they’re in town.

Granted, she runs the games only when she is in town and _not_ glued to Minfilia’s side. Though they are perfectly professional -if obviously close friends- in public, in private is another matter. Assuming any can find them in their private moments. Even she, the one Scion most frequently present at the Waking Sands, has caught them “together” maybe four times in the last year. Thankfully, they were never in any compromising positions, the most risque being the time she found Minfilia sleeping peacefully in Miheone’s lap. Were it not for the sometimes tender touches and the single time she found them kissing, she would never have guessed that they had a relationship at all.

Whatever sort of relationship they have, it’s good for Minfilia, who has become more independent and self-assured; not to mention all around happier. Peaceful, even, and it is a look that suits her well. Knowing that Miheone would never be one to lie to or hurt her friend and leader, she wholeheartedly approves of their...whatever.

“Mom?”

Sae’s hesitant call pulls her out of her nap. Opening an eye, her vision slowly focuses on her son. It’s dark out, she realizes.

“I’m up,” she says hoarsely. On her chest, Fang yawns and stretches, his claws digging into her shirt and skin.

Seeing her irritation, Sae picks up the cat and holds him in his arms like a child. Fang puts up a weak fight before settling in his arms, his fluffy tail slowly wagging. Their cat is getting old, his fur turning white around his snout and the top of his head. “Mhitra says to eat dinner.”

The mention of food causes her stomach to grumble and her head to ache sharply. She hasn’t eaten since breakfast, aside from a single cookie she had eaten while debating what she wanted for lunch.

“Are you sick?” Sae is looking at her, the concern in his face clear. He has become unusually clingy after Orella’s departure. Aside from his clandestine feline feedings, he does not often stay out of the house for extended periods when he knows she will be home. She has to wonder if he is trying to take care of her, or if he simply needs the comfort of her presence.

Maybe both.

“Don’t worry, Sae,” she assures with a laugh. Rolling off the hammock gracefully, she stretches so hard her hearing strains and her vision takes a few seconds to return. “I just stayed up all night trying to get some paperwork done for Gundobald.”

“Orella says that sleepless nights hurt you for days.”

“I’m used to it.”

“She said that’s worse!”

“But _I_ say I’m fine.”

“She says you’re bad at taking care of yourself.”

Sighing heavily, she pushes her son toward the house. “I thought I was the mom here.”

“If you marry her, she’ll be my mom too.”

She chokes on air and nearly walks into the door. What did he say? “ _Marriage_? A bit hard to marry someone who isn’t here! Er. Even if that was a consideration.”

“Well. You can ask her the next time you see her.”

“I can’t just ask her!”

“Are you scared she’ll say no?”

“Wh. Of course I’m not _scared_. I’m pretty sure she would agree to marry me if I asked.”

“It’s a promise then!”

“...Wait.”

**33\. Expectations**

Two days. That’s how long she expects Commander Kemp to wait before interrogating her about her trip to Eorzea.

He makes her wait for three, but only due to the early arrival of a long-range scouting unit. What was left of it, at any rate. The imperials aren’t the only threat awaiting them outside their walls; beasts and bandit groups are a common problem. Some days, it seems as though the land itself is trying to destroy them.

Eventually, she is called for a full report, and full it is. She has much to share about the state of the Eorzean side of the Resistance, of Little Ala Mhigo, and the state of the refugees in general. The Resistance has next to no use for sending soldiers so far into Eorzea, so there isn’t much known about their displaced countrymen.

“Gridania’s Elder Seedseer is more generous than most, but there are only so many they can take in, even accounting for the strict ruling of the capricious elementals. Ul’dah, on the other hand, treats their refugees little better than dirt.”

Conrad and his apparent protege, M’naago Rhaz, are the only officers present for the report. It is informal enough that Kemp hadn’t felt the need to bring others in, instead inviting her to a long lunch while he had the time to escape his paperwork.

“So they turned a blind eye when the Imperials came storming in, then let those who managed to escape starve to death outside their cities,” M’naago grumbles. The young woman is the determined, hopeful sort, but the treatment that the refugees have suffered is enough to make any person’s blood boil with frustration and contempt.

Conrad is less open with his emotions, remarking only that Ul’dah has never been known for kindness for its poor. He seems tired, emotionally. Constant loss will do that to a man.

“And for that reason, there has been an influx of refugees moving to Little Ala Mhigo of late. Word has gotten out that the living conditions are markedly improved of late, and work can be found there.”

The improved conditions are entirely due to the efforts spearheaded by Yda and Gundobald. From what Yda had told her, Little Ala Mhigo had, for years, been nothing more than a pathetic collection of tents. Food had been scarce, basic comfort even scarcer. It wasn’t the heat alone that drove the refugees to be spare in the clothing. There were no proper beds, little potable water, and disease spread quickly and disastrously. Only stubbornness kept the refugees alive, and even the famed Abanian determination was waning after nigh on fifteen years.

“It’s a struggle for Gundobald to keep up with the new arrivals. Lyse’s pet warriors and the Flame soldiers have their hands full just keeping the peace, but even so, the town continues to improve. The General himself visited at one point. Strangely, they had an influx of refugees immediately after he returned to Ul’dah,” she says wryly. It’s an open secret that Raubahn Aldynn directs more of his personal efforts towards helping the refugees than a man in his position should. Combining his efforts with Hahette Prusair and, more recently, Minfilia Warde, they have relocated many a refugee to Little Ala Mhigo or other places willing to accept them. It isn’t a perfect solution, yet none can deny that the village’s meager resources are still far better than the lot of those trapped outside Ul’dah’s walls.

“So...where were you living during your stay?” M’naago asks curiously, likely catching on to how she more often said “they” rather than “us” when talking of Little Ala Mhigo.

While there is no reason to be embarrassed, she finds herself hesitating a moment before admitting that she lived with Yda’s family for all but two sennights of her moons in Eorzea. “Their proximity to the Lominsan marketplace and the Scion headquarters made it the most suitable arrangement,” she says offhandedly.

“The most suitable arrangement.” As if it was only for business that she stayed, instead of for Yda’s compassion, Lyse’s smiles, Y’mhitra’s relaxing presence, and Y’shtola’s steadiness. Instead of Sae shyly watching her work until she prodded him into admitting that he wanted to help. Instead of Raf sneaking into the workroom with books in one hand and a box of crayons in the other, merely wanting her presence when the rest of the family was out. Instead of Vochstein showing off his tricks and toys, asking his many questions and harassing Yda.

She needn’t have worried about her vagueness, as Kemp is interested in one thing only; well, two things.

“I’ve heard of the Hext sisters.”

Suddenly she knows why Kemp wanted a private report, why he insisted she extend her stay in Eorzea after receiving her first message; a message which included a note that she was being personally aided by one Archon Yda Hext.

But she doesn’t call him out on his obvious interest in the daughters of the Resistance legend, fully explaining the roles the sisters play in improving the lives of the Little Ala Mhigo refugees. How they bridged the gap between the displaced peoples and the Flame soldiers that protect them. How they lead their people to new opportunities for work.

There are no better candidates for an officer position in the Resistance, perhaps even a successor if the way he phrases his questions concerning Yda are any indication. Not that either Hext will take such an offer. Yda, burnt out and with children to care for, _needs_ this time helping her people in a way that doesn’t require constant fighting. Lyse, ever on the move, either for the company or assisting the Flames with protecting Little Ala Mhigo, wouldn’t be able to tear herself from her fledgling group of warriors.

Yda has seen far too much in her years, Lyse not quite enough in hers. They both are determined to help their homeland, but they are also determined to help their _people_ , and those are not necessarily the same things at the moment. It is the latter that is their focus now, and so they must forego the former. But when those two desires finally fall onto the same path?

She has no doubt that the Hext sisters will live up to Conrad Kemp’s expectations. Not because they are the daughters of Curtis Hext, but because they are _so much better_.

**34\. Stars**

_“How far does the ocean go?”_

“Uh, it covers the whole world. I guess.”

_“Has anyone ever explored it all?”_

Lyse chuckles and fluffs Vochstein’s feathers. He is a warm weight on her stomach, but she appreciates it as the sea wind blows across the beach. “That would take more time than any person has in their whole life. Maybe several. There’s a lot out there to discover in the world.”

_“What about the stars?”_

“Ah, those are unreachable to us.”

_“We do not know what exists out there? But there is so much space!”_

“Yeah. Makes you feel small, doesn’t it?”

 _“But mother, I_ am _small.”_

She laughs again and agrees. For all that Vochstein has evolved and matured, perhaps that level of existentialism is a bit beyond him at his age. His curiosity grows by the day, fed by the ramblings of their family and friends, by the things he sees on their missions. Few understand his words, but his gestures and hunt speak tend to get the point across when he wants information and there is no translator around.

_“Mother is coming.”_

“Yes, I hear her.”

Mentally counting down, she reaches “two” before Vochstein vacates his post as stomach-warmer to greet Shtola. Most of their greetings are drowned out by the sound of the waves, but their son is as enthusiastic as ever.

Shtola stops next to her head and stares down at her, eyebrows raised. “And here I thought Yda would be the only one to brood so dramatically after Orella leaving. It’s practically morning, I hope you are aware.”

 _“We are not sad! We are staring at the stars and telling stories! Oh, but we_ are _sad, because Orella is nice and fun and makes Yda and Sae happy but now she has gone. ...Is that what brooding means? Are we brooding, mother?”_

“No, Vochstein,” she answers, fighting a laugh but unable to keep the smile from her lips. “We’re just staring at the stars and telling stories because Mhitra and Hahette were arguing and we wanted quiet time after dinner. Remember?”

Vochstein latches on to the topic of Mhitra and Hahette, instantly launching into a description of the argument, happenings at the dinner table, Raf’s attempts to summon a carbuncle, Sae’s continued glum mood, and Fang’s return to the house. Sharing a fond smile with Shtola, she pats the sand next to her. An odd look crosses Shtola’s face, one that she might call strained or hesitant had it lasted longer.

Funny, she thought she had trained her friend out of her distaste for sitting on grass, dirt, rock, or sand. Does she dislike sand in particular? They have lived here for years now. Wouldn’t she have noticed if Shtola doesn’t like sand?

‘ _It could just be you,’_ an old voice whispers. It’s the voice from years ago, after the Calamity when everything was confusing and broken. It’s the voice from a decade before even that, when she wondered if she would be forgotten or discarded because she was young and weak and couldn’t control her aether.

She doesn’t hear it as often as she used to, but it isn’t gone. It’s never truly gone; it only waits for a moment of weakness and then it’s there, trying to convince her that she isn’t worthy enough, good enough, or strong enough for her family.

It used to be easy to ignore that voice, but lately it feels as though something is off with Shtola, and she’s the only one who seems to notice. Which means that maybe she’s the only one her friend has a problem with. It wouldn’t be the first time, after all.

Her doubts are forgotten once Shtola is settled firmly at her side, allowing Vochstein to stretch across them both.

“We didn’t think you would be back so soon,” she says when there is a break in Vochstein’s rambling.

“Our lead failed. Spectacularly.”

The chagrin in Shtola’s voice is so obvious that she really has no choice but to prompt her to continue, nudging her side with her elbow until she is given a sigh. The story amuses their son, who always enjoys tales that involve explosions, chases, and his mother being an all-around badass.

Something Shtola blames entirely on his Hext side, despite the fact that their destruction records are nearly the same. So she has bigger messes on her own record? That was just a hazard of working with Ashaht.

“For one who claims to not be brooding, you are awfully quiet,” Shtola mutters when Vochstein has gone to investigate a flock of birds.

“The sea breeze is nice,” she defends mildly. It isn’t even a lie, really. It’s wonderfully cool, unlike the stuffy caves she had just returned from; an investigation mission for the Flames that Raubahn had asked for their help with. Ever since the slaver mission, caves have made her feel claustrophobic, and she avoids them whenever possible. She couldn’t deny the request in this case, however, as the mission was near the Little Ala Mhigo territory. The refugees that make up her personal “team” have unrivaled experience with that area.

After that several day adventure, there’s nothing like surrounding herself with the sea and sky to rid herself of lingering claustrophobia, and she says as much to her overprotective friend.

Shtola hums unconvincingly. “And Orella?”

That’s easier to answer. “I’ve never seen Yda so happy. Not like that.”

Yda hadn’t found someone who “completed her” or any overly sappy -in Yda’s words- way of putting it.

_“We’re whole people on our own, thank you very much. She simply understands me in a way that no one else does.”_

_“And she’s so cute you trip over yourself when she smiles at you?”_

_“That was ONCE and it wasn’t because she_ smiled _at me!”_

When Yda was with Orella, she was at peace with herself, even with all the frustrations that come with being a Scion and Resistance member. She smiled more, shared her burdens, and spent less time worrying about the future. Yda deserves that peace, that happiness, so to watch her in Orella’s absence is _painful_. The resignation that they must separate, may never see each other again makes her want to cry. _Has_ made her cry.

_“I’ll be fine, Lyse. Yes, it hurts, but we knew what we were getting into. And it would have been worse to have never acted on it and regret it when she left. We took what happiness we could. That’s all we can do.”_

“I hate that they have to be apart.”

“That is the burden of war, Lyse.”

“I know that. Believe me, I know that better than most. It doesn’t mean I have to like it. Not after all we’ve lost already.”

Shtola rests her hand on top of her own, a silent show of support in place of words. Selfishly, she is relieved that the issue is laid to rest, because it isn’t the only thing about Orella that is troubling her; she also hasn’t quite figured out how she feels about the last conversation they shared.

_“Have you considered staying?” Orella gives her a raised eyebrow and twists her lips in a way that says she is already forming a rejection to a question unasked, a look so reminiscent of Shtola that she immediately clarifies. “I’m not trying to convince you to stay, I swear. I just. Do you ever question your duty? Have doubts?”_

_Orella relaxes, her stubborn expression fading to something resigned. Sad. Another expression she knows all too well. Yda walks around with it more often than not lately, when she thinks no one is looking. “Of course I do. You aren’t lesser for having doubts, Lyse. It’s only human nature.”_

_Dropping into the empty chair she crosses her arms on the table and rests her chin on her wrists. “In a perfect world, you wouldn’t have to lose each other.”_

_“In a perfect world, we may never have met.” Orella’s words are soft, but fervent. “Whatever the war has taken from me, it led me to Yda, just as it led you to Y’shtola. Can you truly regret the paths that led you to such love, however painful they have been?”_

Love, she had said. There is no doubt that she loves Shtola. Shtola is...Shtola. There is no other in her life like her, no other person that has affected her so deeply. It’s always been that way, since the day they met so long ago. She loves Shtola so much she wonders how it all doesn’t spill out of her heart, wonders how she doesn’t explode from containing all that love.

But it isn’t the same kind of love that Orella and Yda share.

The same kind of love that Mhitra and Hahette share.

It _can’t_ be. It never _has_ been, so why can’t she forget Orella’s words? Why can’t she stop thinking about how much she wants Shtola in her arms? Why can’t she stop thinking about how much she wants to roll over onto Shtola and kiss her until the world ends?

“Are you paying attention?”

Vochstein’s face looms above her. _“Mother! You are sleeping with your eyes open!”_

“Err. Whoops?”

“Really, Lyse.” Shtola clicks her tongue and rolls onto her side. “If you mean to sleep, we’ve a perfectly serviceable, warm, _sand-free_ bed awaiting us.”

Her response is slow, mesmerized as she is by Shtola framed by the light of the rising sun - _when had the sun started to rise?_ \- and the light reflecting off the ocean. “...Right. Yeah. Bed sounds nice.”

Dragging herself up is a slow process. She feels the aches, the lack of sleep, and the storm of emotions weighing her down. It’s a hard thing, to realize she’s in _love_ , and has been for years.

It’s even harder to acknowledge that it doesn’t matter, because whatever her feelings are, they aren’t the same as Shtola’s. If there is one thing she has always been sure of, it’s that she will be anything and everything Shtola wants.

And _only_ what she wants. Even if - _especially if_ \- she herself wants more.

**35\. Hold my Hand**

After years of terror, years of tyranny, the Mad King is dead.

But so is her father.

And any chance of Ala Mhigo’s freedom, because the _gods damned imperials had ambushed their home_. The king’s body wasn’t even _cold_ when the bastards overran what was left of the city’s guards. It had been absolute chaos, with explosions ringing across the city and smoke filling the air from the fires that burned.

“Yda. Where are we going?”

“Away.”

“But Mr. Egi was hurt. Why did we leave?”

Her jaw clenches at the reminder of the resistance member that had burst through their door. Blood had covered half his head and one of his shoulders.

 _“The imperials. Run. You have to run. They got your father._ You have to run _. NOW.”_

“We couldn’t help him, Lyse.”

“But daddy-”

“Just hush and don’t complain!” she snarls, frustration and despair getting the better of her.

Her sister flinches and looks down, obeying her words even as her body trembles from holding back tears.

At any other time, in any other place, she would feel guilty, but they don’t have that luxury right now. They need to get as far away from Ala Mhigo -from Gyr Abania- as possible. The pace she sets is moderate for herself, but for a barely trained five year old bearing her own pack it is near torture. The heat of the sun bearing down on them doesn’t help; even in the cooler parts of the year, heat stroke is a concern for travelers.

She doesn’t realize how literally Lyse took her order until, after half a day of silent traveling, her sister trips and struggles to get back up.

It’s the thud that gets her attention, and the quiet whimper that destroys her fragile mask of indifference. The fear that she struggles to contain breaks free, and she is at Lyse’s side in an instant, pulling her into her arms and mentally begging her to be okay.

“Just tired. I’m okay.”

“Just tired,” her sister says, when her knees are bloody, her face is pale from overexertion, and there are tear tracks outlined by dirt on her cheeks. “I’m okay,” her sister says, when their father is dead, their home is gone, and they have nothing left but what they’re carrying and each other.

Lyse, little Lyse, doesn’t dare look up at her. Her small hand grasps the cuff of her shirt until her knuckles are pale, but she leans away from her as if she doesn’t know if she wants to hold her close or push her away. As if she doesn’t know if she’s _allowed_ to hold her close, or if she _must_ push her away.

_“Take care of your sister. Whatever else this world throws at us, at the very least, we should rely on our family to protect us.”_

Not even a day after father’s death, and she has already ignored his words. Getting Lyse away from Ala Mhigo is one thing, but dragging her through the Lochs her until she’s too weak to walk, without breaks for food or sleep? That’s only taking her from one cruelty to another.

She finds them a partially covered alcove to rest within, and they spend an entire day. Lyse sleeps in her lap, reluctant to let her go and too exhausted to ask her questions. Perhaps she already knows what has happened. It wouldn’t surprise her; Lyse may be energetic and incapable of focusing on anything that bores her, but she is sensitive to people’s moods.

Growing up during a time of paranoia and fear would do that to a kid, she supposes.

Their sleep is fitful, and she feels even weaker for it the next day. She’s grateful that they have food in their packs, as she thinks it might be a few more days of this before she has the strength to hunt.

“Hold my hand, okay? If I’m going too fast, just tug me back.”

Lyse adjusts her pack and holds her hand as requested. She’s less afraid of her today, but now reality is setting in. Her movements are hesitant, and she keeps looking in the direction of their home.

She nearly does the same, but looking back is another luxury she doesn’t have anymore. The only thing that matters is finding somewhere safe for Lyse to live, and somewhere safe so she can train.

Because some day, she’s going to take their home back and there will be no more imperials, no more kings. Just Ala Mhigo, free.

And maybe on that day, she will no longer live in shame of her inability to protect her mother and father.

**36\. Precious Treasure**

_“You’ll sleep better without me, and we both know it.”_

"You look like shit."

Ears twitching, she gives R'ashaht a flat look that is nearly a glare. After the mission they just finished, she isn't in the mood for Lyse's former partner and occasional lover's idea of banter. Not when the only restaurant in this village has a vexingly long wait for service. "I'll not hear that from the one who burnt her coat and hair," she sneers.

R'ashaht shrugs, unoffended by her reference to the disaster that was their mission. "My point exactly. You weren't wounded, your shoes are undamaged, and Lyse is alive. So why are you moping as if all three are untrue?"

She is tempted, _so very tempted_ , to start an argument as R'ashaht invites herself to sit at her table. The tension of the last moons thrums beneath her skin, waiting for a chance to explode. The brigands that had been unlucky enough to cross them had not been a suitable outlet for her stress.

If R'ashaht senses danger, she ignores it and takes a long drink from her canteen. "Is it really that big an inconvenience that you're in love with Lyse?"

And just like that, her will to fight is gone. To hear those words -words that she can barely bring herself to whisper in her own mind- said out loud wounds her in a manner that she has no defense against. Mhitra never dared speak of her despondency after the Calamity, and even Yda knows better than to speak with her on the matter.

"...I guess it is." Handing her a handful of jerky -a kindness extended to few people- R'ashaht allows her to eat while she continues. She is thankful for the food; they had planned for a day trip, not a several day jaunt chasing rogues. "You don't want to love her, do you?"

Swallowing the jerky, she grimaces at both the harsh texture and the question. "Not particularly."

"That's unfortunate, considering how easy she makes it to care for her."

She scoffs, because isn't _that_ an understatement of epic proportions. It's nigh on impossible not to hold any sort of fondness for Lyse. Fondness, friendship, familial love; any of those emotions would be more expected -more welcome- than... _this_. The exact nature of "this" she has yet to determine. Or more accurately, has yet to admit.

"The real question is, are you thinking of her as a potential _lover_ or a potential _mate_?" R'ashaht asks, unknowingly posing the same question she refuses to ponder. The adventurer turned soldier is determined to make a nuisance of herself today, it seems.

But as much as she desires rest and time alone, there is some reassurance in speaking to one who will not judge her, nor will be affected by her emotions. They two have never been close; aside from the occasional joint mission, there are no interests they share outside Lyse and a general wish to protect Eorzea.

"I cannot say," she answers, tone heavy with her distress. "I had hoped it to be a crush, or a temporary insanity brought on by Mhitra's insistence I find myself a partner." Her lips curl in distaste at the memory of her sister's determination to find her a lover. It had been mildly annoying before the slaver mission, less tolerable after, and _unbearable_ when she moved to Eorzea herself. “But my feelings did not change, even as I ignored them. I was arrogant enough to believe they would fade in time, yet here I am…”

Trailing off, she rubs the bracelet on her wrist. It’s a simple thing, a mere cord of leather wrapped around her wrist. No decorations, no added charms. What makes the leather special is that it is the very strap that once held the crystal infused with Lyse’s aether. She could not bring herself to part with it after the crystal shattered, much less be rid of it. It became her lifeline, the one thing reminding her of her desire to protect Eorzea; of _Lyse’s_ desire to protect Eorzea. Only during missions would it be removed from her hand. Sae, ever resourceful, took it upon himself to convert the strap into a bracelet.

Now, with Lyse alive and mending, it serves as a reminder of what she nearly lost, and what she stands to lose again should she fail in her duties.

"You're going to leave it be, aren't you?" R'ashaht isn't too impressed with her decision. The soldier is one to follow her emotions, never afraid to chase after her desires. When she had decided she wanted Lyse, she had simply pinned her down and kissed her mid-spar.

Tempting as such a course of action is, she simply cannot bring herself to imagine replicating it. “This is no time to be experimenting with our relationship,” she says sternly. “My affections remain uncertain, and Lyse…”

Lyse has barely the strength to venture out of doors, her days spent learning to use her corrupted aether and healing. At her side is the ever curious Vochstein, who is, for all intents and purposes, a true child now. To force her questionable affections on her dearest friend now, overwhelmed as they are, would merely serve to hurt them both in the end.

_“You’ll sleep better without me, and we both know it.”_

Recalling the tremble in Lyse’s voice when she was last home, the emptiness in her eyes, and the heaviness of her footsteps, she realizes that she has _already_ hurt Lyse.

“Lyse doesn’t really see you as a potential lover.”

For a breath, her heart stills from a pain so great it is nearly physical. The words are not uttered with maliciousness, nor are they untrue. To Lyse, she is but a friend. They are close, yes, affectionate in ways that can be mistaken for a lover’s bond.

But when Lyse looks at her, or holds her in her arms, there is no _desire_. Only the simple affection that she is prone to holding for all her family.

Fingers snap in her face, startling her out of her brooding. “Oh, don’t look so wounded and pathetic,” R’ashaht snorts. “It doesn’t suit you. You know as well as I do that Lyse wouldn’t know desire until it smashed her head in. Or pinned her down and kissed her.”

Scowling at the suggestive tone, she says, “I will _not_ -”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Not your style. At least you don’t have to worry about anyone usurping your place as her favorite while you get your head on right,” R’ashaht grouches.

Suddenly suspicious, she eyes the woman and crosses her arms. “Jealous?”

She doesn’t mean to challenge R’ashaht, though her question can be mistaken for the beginning of one.

“As if. She’s my friend and occasional lover, not my _mate_.”

The topic is abandoned as her food -finally- arrives; not that they have much more to say on the matter. For once, being forced to buy an overly large meal is a blessing, R’ashaht being eager to split the meal with her. Inevitably, her hand returns to clutching her bracelet, but if her companion notices, she does not call her out on it.

When she returns to her room, she finds herself staring at her pack. It is well into the evening. She ought to be sleeping.

Her hand finds the bracelet once again.

_“You’ll sleep better without me, and we both know it.”_

Sighing, she grabs her pack and weapon. Whatever the time of day, whatever her own emotions, she has an apology to make.

**37\. Eyes**

It is interesting, the subtle peculiarities that he can discern. Blue from a distance, but there are specks of a darker blue up close. Each one unique, from each other, from all others in the world.

“...What are you curious about today, Vochstein?” Mother Lyse asks, confusion evident in her voice.

He hums and leans back from her face, giving her what he thinks is termed “breathing space.” A silly term, he thinks, because people do not need space to _breathe_. From what he understands, they need only to not cover their mouth and nose.

 _“Your eyes are my favorite eyes. The colors are nice,”_ he declares. _“Like the sky on the perfect day for playing outdoors!”_

Mother blinks and laughs, ruffling the fur on his head. “You might be a little biased, but you know what? I’ll take it.”

Content, he moves away from her face to curl up on her stomach. Mother’s session with Wawakuma had run late today, but their friend claimed that she had made significant progress of late. Healing sessions no longer exhaust her to the point of requiring sleep, and she can travel outdoors unaided.

Minfilia tells him that she will soon be ready to return home. He is excited for that day to come, for he has not seen his family very often since he developed a soul, and he wants nothing more than to explore their home with, as Thancred terms, “fresh eyes.”

Another strange term. His eyes have not changed. How can they be fresh? Is he meant to be given new ones? Language is very confusing.

He is considering posing his question to mother, but there is a knock on the door as it opens. Aunt Yda pokes her head in, grinning, and holds up a bag. “Hey you two layabouts. I have gifts from home.”

 _“Aunt Yda!”_ Carefully, he launches from mother’s stomach to fly to his aunt, hitting her shoulder with his head. Used to his greetings, she easily catches him with her free arm.

“Ugh. Do I have to get up?”

“You’re going to get fat if you just sleep all day.”

“I just finished a session! And you’re the one who sleeps half the day away whenever possible!”

Aunt Yda throws the bag at mother’s face violently. It hits mother with a heavy thud, drawing a yelp out of her.

“Serves you right.”

Watching aunt Yda and mother interact is so very fun. They are often lively in their tone and actions, and enjoy arguing with each other. He knows they love each other, so he is not worried that they will ever harm each other. He used to worry about their fights, wondering if they would decide to stop being a family, but Papalymo had assured him that it was typical behavior for them.

He can’t imagine being so mean to Sae and Raf, but he trusts in Papalymo’s knowledge.

As mother digs through the gifts -a new version of her favorite outfit, including the griffin style mask- he twists to get a better look at aunt Yda’s face.

“Hmm? Do you need something, fluffy?”

_“Aunt Yda’s eyes are grey like a cloudy day! A rainy day! Scary at first, but they are not dark and so it is a gentle rain.”_

Mother Lyse repeats his observation, and Aunt Yda raises her eyebrows. “Uh, thanks? That’s definitely not like any other description I’ve heard, but I think I like it. Is this your new thing? Eye color?”

_“It is fun!”_

“Well, just be sure to ask people before you go shoving your beak in their face, alright?”

_“Yes, aunt Yda.”_

**38\. Abandoned**

_“It don’t matter none to me. Just take ‘em.”_

_“We aren’t even sure there will be anyone willing to take them in on the other side!”_

_“You ain’t getting it! I don’t want them! So either you take them and gamble on their chances, or leave them here to starve for sure. Your damn choice.”_

_“...Tch.”_

“Sae, your shoe is ripped.”

Saemundr frowns and shrugs. “Yeah, I know.” There’s nothing he can do about it. The adults that uncle gave them to haven’t talked much, ordering them to follow them without much explanation. They aren’t mean or anything, so at least it’s an improvement over uncle’s attitude.

“Will you be okay?”

“I don’t know, Raf.”

“Are they taking us to a new home?”

“I don’t know. They said they would.”

Raforta looks down at the dust her feet kick up with every step. “I don’t think they want us either.”

He doesn’t answer that, because he doesn’t know how. Maybe they aren’t wanted, but they have no choice but to follow the grown-ups. The walk is long, blisters growing on his feet and his sister hanging off his arm by the time they arrive at a village. They meet other refugees, some of which are even kids like them. All of them are dirty, wearing clothes have holes, or stains, or don’t fit at all. Some of them are even orphans, though none of the others are totally alone like them.

Where are your parents, those kids ask.

Gone, he answers abruptly.

They stay in the village for a sennight. They sleep for the first day, partially out of exhaustion, and partially because they don’t have to worry about hunger when they sleep. The second day, they get a bath, clean clothes, and a whole meal. It’s more than they have had since auntie died, and he almost makes himself sick from eating so much. The rest of the days are spent learning about the other children and the place that they are being taken.

Eorzea. Thanalan. Little Ala Mhigo.

The names don’t mean anything to him, not really. Across the wall, they said. Away from the Empire, where it’s safe. But what is safety? How can they be safe if there is no one to take care of them? They said that they will be looked after, but by who? Who would want them when even the last of their family didn’t?

As long as he can stay with Raf, he determines, it doesn’t matter where he goes. He cares only about protecting his sister, and where he has to do it makes no difference to him.

And if he has to do it alone? Then. Then he’ll do it alone.

“Now these people are here to take us through the border, so I expect all of you to _behave_. This will be dangerous, so when we tell you to do something, do not argue.”

The warning of the adults is ignored. The people meant to protect them had arrived bells ago, and have spent their time talking adult things and eating. They look weird, especially the small one. The way they’re dressed, these “Archons,” doesn’t make them look very strong.

But there is _one_ thing of interest among them.

“So you’re...a toy?”

The griffin tilts its head. He has never seen a griffin before, not even a fake one, so when it wandered to the side of the group, he took his chance to investigate it.

Narrowing his eyes, he gives the sharp beak and claws a distrustful look. “You _look_ like a griffin. How do your eyes glow? Are you magic? Can you use magic? Is that how you move by yourself?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

He yelps, scrambling away from the weird plush and the stranger that appeared _out of nowhere_ behind him. His foot trips over a rock, and he lands with a muted thud in the dirt. Rolling onto his back, he holds out his hands defensively, expecting fists to fly at him like uncle’s when he gets angry. “I’m sorry!”

The woman doesn’t move, doesn’t speak until he opens his eyes and stares at her through his fingers. “For what?” she says with a tiny smile. “He loves attention.”

Arms trembling, he slowly lowers them to his chest. The griffin walks over to him and pokes him with its beak, chirping in concern. “Oh. I. Okay,” he mutters, confused by the lack of anger and discipline.

“If your parents let you, you can play with Vochstein,” she says kindly. Everything about her postures screams “nice,” even though her mask is a little scary. She must be one of the Archon people, but she doesn’t dress like them, and she seems friendly.

The griffin, Vochstein, hops onto his lap and stretches out. Hugging it, he looks at the lady’s metal boots and says miserably , “I don’t have parents.”

“Oh. Uh. Me either.”

Startled, he accidentally meets her gaze. Blue eyes and blonde hair are the first thing he notes. The second is that the mask kinda looks like a griffin.

“Are you taking us to Eorzea?”

The woman nods. “I’m Lyse. That’s Vochstein. My sister Yda is leading the Archons, but you’ll meet her later.”

“...I’m Saemundr, and I have a sister named Raforta.”

“Nice to meet you, Sae. Do you have a guardian?”

“No. My uncle gave us away. It’s just me and Raf now.”

Vochstein whistles and cuddles against him harder.

“Well. Now you have us! We’ll get you to Little Ala Mhigo safe and sound.”

He isn’t sure he believes her, but something about her smile eases his doubts and fear.

“But first! Why don’t we get some food? Come on. Let’s find your sister. And maybe mine.”

Maybe she can’t be trusted. Maybe she will abandon him like all the others. He doesn’t know how this will turn out, but for the moment, Lyse is leading him to the food stall, chattering away, and Vochstein is flying around them trying to play, and he feels a little less worried about his future.

**39\. Dreams**

The house is silent when she returns from her mission. According to the clock on the wall, it is just past first bell. The thought of snatching some snacks crosses her mind, but her pack is heavy on her back, and the desire for sleep wins out over snacks. Decision made, she turns back to the stairs, then promptly trips over Fang.

“Hey!” she whispers fiercely.

“Meow,” he replies back, then runs off toward the cellar.

“Well hello to you too.” Grumbling, she quickly and silently heads upstairs and to her room. The door is closed, the bottom of the doorway glowing faintly from activated silence spells.

Shtola is home.

Slipping into her room, she is surprised to find her friend awake. The room is dark save for the light of the crystals surrounding Shtola on their bed. She is weaving spells over the crystals, her eyes tracking their interactions carefully in between enchantments.

“Welcome back,” Shtola says distractedly, taking a moment to wave her hand and activate the larger crystal lights. Her friend obviously hadn’t expected her return, as she is wearing one of her more risque night shirts; a steel blue set perfect for warm nights like this, as it barely reaches mid-thigh. Sitting cross legged as she is, it’s clear she opted for skipping the shorts and settling for wearing only panties with it.

Throat suddenly dry, she quickly looks away to put her pack down and greets her, knowing that she isn’t being paid attention to at the moment. Wincing, she pulls her shirt over her head. A particularly crafty Sahagin had managed to sneak a hit onto her ribs, and though none are broken, it sure _hurt_ like hell.

“You’re injured.”

“It’s just a bruise. Stupid sahagin. I’m lucky I didn’t get speared through like a fish!”

Shtola sighs harshly, unamused by her morbid humor. “Come here. Let me take a look at it.”

“...I’ll leave my shirt off, then.” Resigning herself to an examination, she obeys and sits in the middle of their bed in front of Shtola. Immediately, there is a cold hand on her ribs, and she shies away from it with a squeak.

“Sit still!”

“Noooo. Cold! Why are you so cold?” Spotting their throw blanket bunched up on top of their pillow, she rolls herself onto her knees, throws her arm around Shtola for support, and reaches out to grab the blanket. Pressed up against her friend, she becomes very aware of the thin fabric that separates their skin, of how easy it would be to slip the loose, thin straps of the shirt off.

Shtola grumbles an incoherent complaint, but allows her to drag the blanket around her shoulders. Her cheeks are a little flushed, and her eyes a shade darker than usual. “I fail to see how this will make my _hands_ warmer.”

Oh. “That’s a good point.” Grinning wickedly, she grabs Shtola’s hands and holds them tightly in her own. “Better?”

“...Marginally.”

“You have a better suggestion?”

There is an odd glint in Shtola’s eyes, and a devious twist to her smirk. “Oh, several.” Pushing her hands apart, she links their fingers together and drags her arms down, forcing her to bend closer to her face. “But why stop with our hands?”

“Oh,” she gasps against her lips. “I _do_ like that better.”

Shtola’s answering hum is swallowed by her lips. The kiss is deep but slow, allowing her savor the feel of Shtola’s lips and tongue. Desire, however, gets the better of them, and very quickly it isn’t _enough_. Her hands find the bottom of Shtola’s sheer top, pulling it up insistently. Her friend reluctantly loosens the grip she has on her hair and waist, separating from their kiss allow the shirt to be removed.

Always ready to make Shtola happy, she makes up for it by tangling the shirt around her wrists and pushing her against the bed. Holding her wrists down, she wastes no time in turning her attention to her breasts, nibbling and sucking one and kneading the other until Shtola is arching against her and groaning her name.

“How long will you _play_ , Lyse?” Shtola asks, cursing when she laughs in response.

Still, she obliges the demand, her mouth leaving her breasts to kiss her forcefully. Her free hand trails down, tracing the edge of her panties teasingly, then tugging them down. The instant they are removed, Shtola wraps her legs around her waist, desperate to connect as much of their skin as possible.

“Hmm. You’re _eager_ , aren’t you?” she teases.

Shtola bites her neck and sucks hard. “And you had best _do somethin_ -GODS. _Lyse_.”

The way Shtola nearly comes undone by the simple stroke of her clit nearly makes _her_ come, but she is determined to hold it together. Feeling devious, she redirects her attention to massaging her thighs, ensuring that her hand brushes against Shtola until the hand in her hair tugs painfully. Pausing her ministrations, she allows them both to catch their breath for a moment, then gives Shtola what she desires.

Shtola almost loses it again, thrusting her hips against her and dropping her head against the pillow, a look of pure pleasure on her face. Pleads for _more_ for _harder_ for _faster_ are punctuated by her name. One finger becomes two, nails dig into her shoulder, and the legs around her become steel from the coming release. Kissing Shtola fiercely, she curls her fingers inside her, finding the perfect spot to send her lover over the edge. Walls contract around her fingers, Shtola breaks away from their kiss with a strangled gasp, and then-

“AH!”

She bolts up, heart racing and underwear wet.

She is in bed. Alone. No Shtola.

Limbs trembling, she covers her face and whimpers. “ _Not again_ ,” she whispers miserably.

These dreams are starting to get out of hand. She had gone from never considering her best friend to be a love interest, to having _wet dreams_ about her every other day! In the span of two moons! Not even when she was with Ashaht was it this bad!

Flopping back onto the bed, she’s thankful that she hasn’t seen Shtola in nearly two sennights, and hasn’t shared a bed with her in longer.

“I can't keep going like this." She had thought, had  _sworn_ , she could remain Shtola's friend, but she can't function like this! "I need serious help.”

But who can she ask that won’t make fun of her?

“...Maybe I’ll just train hard every night. Yeah. That sounds like a better idea.”

**40\. Rated**

“So...that Roegadyn woman you were with earlier…”

Minfilia falters as she reaches for her drink. Though she recovers instantly, she has no doubt that Krile caught it. “That...is Miheone. I believe I have mentioned her in my letters.”

There is a shine in Krile’s eyes that bodes ill for her patience, but she knows that there is no escaping this conversation. “Ah yes. The flirtatious mentor of yours.”

“ _Overly_ flirtatious,” she corrects sternly.

Krile raises her hands in a faux attempt to placate her. “Of course, forgive me. The _overly_ flirtatious mentor of yours that is, as you said, an invaluable source of knowledge and extraordinary strength.”

Her old friend is leading this conversation in a certain direction, and she suspects she knows exactly which direction. Much as she trusts Krile, her idea of amusement tends to come at the expense of others, and she will not allow herself to be caught unawares _this_ time.

“I give her a nine out of ten. There’s something about the sternness in her manner that detracts from-”

“A _nine_ ,” she gasps, offended. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with Miheone’s looks _or_ personality.”

“And neither did I say there is! Only that she is not so perfect-”

“She is perfect as she is,” she insists with a scowl.

“So her interest isn’t as one sided as you insist. I had thought so, but thank you for confirming.”

...What.

Krile laughs as she covers her face with her hands, mortified at how easily she was made to dance to her friend’s tune. Has Miheone not spent a full year and a half teaching her how to _not_ react emotionally in conversation?

“Truthfully, I admit to some surprise. You have never been alltogether interested in _any_ relationship, much less one with the fairer sex. This Miheone of yours must be special, and I demand you tell me all about her!”

Speaking of her confused emotions concerning her friend and mentor is not at all how she wanted to spend her time in Sharlayan, but now that Krile offers a willing ear, she finds herself revealing all. The confusing interactions, her strange _reactions_ , her lack of experience leaving her questioning herself, these are all things that she has not been able to share with any other, and merely opening herself to Krile releases much of her tension.

“Oh, Minfilia. I hate to disappoint you, but I’m afraid there is no other conclusion; you are clearly smitten.”

...And here she thought Krile would have a _useful_ observation.

Her friend giggles at the dismayed look upon her face. “Is it not reassuring to know your own emotions? Now that you have that small matter sorted out, you may get to the business of acting upon them.”

Her jaw drops and a blush spreads across her cheeks. “You say that as if it is so easy, but I assure you, there are _many_ complications-”

“You make a fetching couple. As a pair, a ten out of ten is most certainly deserved.”

“That is beside the point.”

“Considering your social standings, I daresay the term “power couple” is applicable, even.”

“Excuse me? That is not a real term.”

“From your descriptions, I would bet that she is a most attentive lover.”

“That is _not_ up for discussion!”

“As red as you are, I see you are most certainly imagining it.”

Covering her face once again, she regrets ever opening up to Krile. _‘I’m never going to hear the end of this, am I?’_


	5. 41-50

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hastily posting this before I disappear for Borderlands 3. Enjoy!

**41\. Teamwork**

The plan had been perfect.

The lockpicker got them into the house.

The spellbreaker disabled the barrier without a single mistake.

And he was in and out of the room with their prize in less than half a minute.

So what had gone wrong?

“Do I _want_ to know why you were breaking into the mansion?”

“No, you probably don’t,” Raf says first, tone very matter of fact. If he didn’t know better, he would be convinced that she isn’t afraid of getting in trouble. His sister doesn’t have quite the level of respect for Shtola that he does -let alone Vochstein- but she _does_ consider Hahette a second mother. There’s no telling how Mhitra’s mate will react to their little break-in; she will either suggest a terrible punishment for their transgression, or give them terrible training for being caught and disgracing their teachers.

It doesn’t matter that they weren’t technically stealing anything. The barrier they had taken down was meant to protect the storeroom from thieves and animals, and them breaking it left the room unprotected until someone arrived to reset it.

Which wouldn’t have been a problem, if the entire company wasn’t out on missions for the next sennight, Mhitra is experimenting in the basement and can’t be disturbed, and Shtola wasn’t due back for another two days. And they need their prize _tonight_.

“Then I won’t ask. Know, however, that you _will_ be taking daily inventory of the storeroom until Hahette or Lyse returns.”

They don’t dare groan or whine, but the looks they exchange are filled with dread all the same. There are _hundreds_ of items in that room!

But thinking of their prize, the present they had made for Llinah but had accidentally left behind in the storeroom, he knows that any punishment is worth making his best friend happy.

**42\. Standing Still**

“Goodness. I thought they would never settle down.”

She sends Mhitra a crooked smile and adjusts her arm. Raf is curled up into her right side, Sae is passed out on her other side, head on her lap and legs across Lyse’s, and Vochstein is stretched out on his stomach.

“I used to think _Lyse_ had too much energy, but these three together are a thousand times worse,” she groans.

Lyse frowns at her, offended. “I was never this bad.”

“How did you meet Y’shtola, again?”

“Say that to our furniture.”

Mhitra and her share a smile at their chorused objections, ignoring their sister as she pouts.

What she doesn’t admit is that she has precious few memories of Lyse as a child. Her time back then was filled with work, studying, and fighting. Always out helping everyone who needed it but her own sister. “Home” was nothing more than an empty word to her; merely a place she went to sleep and sometimes cooked for the sister she rarely spoke to.

And Lyse? Lyse was something to feed and check in on, not something to _pay attention to_. Not until the Rhul sisters were dragged into their life, and by then it was too late. By the time she got around to noticing her sister, she was nearly a full-fledged Archon. There had simply never been enough time for anything that wasn’t work, no matter her efforts to change, and then Lyse was gone into the world, further away than ever, making a life for herself.

To be honest, she feels like she hasn’t stopped moving since their mother died, always forced to deal with one horrible thing after another, until.

Until now.

Her work schedule is no less busy, what with running around for Little Ala Mhigo and the Scions, taking care of her family, and the general work needed to upkeep a house full of small children and absent-minded adults. But now she has a steady rhythm. It isn’t perfect -it never will be- yet she feels more fulfilled from her work than ever, manages to come home most nights, and can be there to witness the children _grow_.

Now, she can take part of their lives in a way that she never did for Lyse.

“Let’s get them to bed, shall we?” Mhitra asks, already moving to pick up Raf. The girl, a deep sleeper, remains undisturbed as she is carried to her room. Mhitra grumbles about how _heavy_ she is getting, and hadn’t she had enough of this with Lyse, and where is Hahette when she needs her?

Vochstein is a much easier burden, Lyse scooping him up to hold him like a baby. He chirps softly, and, from the way Lyse snickers, likely muttered something adorable.

With all obstacles clear, she scoots away from Sae’s head, cringing as the blood rushes back to her leg. “Time for bed, you,” she says, ruffling his hair.

Sae groans, protesting when she sits him up but offers no resistance. “Don’t wanna go to school,” he whines under his breath. Rolling her eyes, she picks him up. “ _Mom_ , _no_. Don’t _wanna_.”

She stops.

Mom?

_Mom?!_

Did he mean... _her_? Her. Yda Hext. A mother? To him?

He was just having a weird dream. Thinking of someone else. Maybe he was imagining his real mother, wishing she could be here. That was a feeling she knew all too well. That had to be it. Nevermind that he has not spoken of his parents in years.

“Is something the matter?”

Mhitra’s question startles her out of her thoughts. “No!” Cringing at how loud her response was, she clears her throat and answers more normally, “No, he’s just sleep talking.”

Right. That’s all it was, she tries to tell herself.

_Just a dream_ , as he clings to her neck.

_I can’t be a mother_ , as she tucks him in.

_What if I mess up_ , as she kisses his forehead.

Sae’s eyes flutter open. “Night, mom,” he whispers. Then his eyes close and he returns to sleep.

_Oh, Rhalgr have mercy. I’m his_ mother _._

“Mhitra!” she half-yells, bursting into her sister’s room. Ignoring the cursing and tumbling of the woman who had been changing, she continues, “ _I’m his mother_.”

Glaring at her, Mhitra finds her balance and continues to dress. “You train him, arrange for his schooling, attend all parental necessities, discipline him as needed, and are his greatest emotional support. You have been his “mother” since you returned from Gridania following the Calamity.”

“...Oh. I. I suppose that does sound like…”

“Now shoo. I am exhausted. You can have a completely unnecessary mental breakdown in the privacy of your own room.”

“What? I’m not. Ugh. _Fine_. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Yda. Do remember that you are not alone, and that you have so far raised him just fine.”

“Right…”

It won’t be like before, with no money, no friends, no family; nothing but her, Lyse, and the pity of Sharlayan. No, she can do this.

And more than that, she _wants_ to.

This time, she’s ready.

Maybe.

**43\. Dying**

_‘The meat is nearly boiled. I just need to finish cutting up the popotos, and add some flavor…’_

“Oh ho! You’re cooking! What’s on the menu?”

She spares Miheone a brief greeting, attention entirely on her chopping. “Nothing for _you_. Mhitra is sick. Lyse isn’t around to make her soup, and you know you can’t trust her other two sisters in the kitchen.”

“What a good housewife you are.”

Huffing at her co-leader’s teasing, she adds the vegetables to the pot. “What brings you across to the islands? Fighting with one of your Scion lovers?”

“Everything was fine until _Thancred_ showed up,” Miheone says with a vicious snarl.

“Mhm. Thancred, is it? I take it he has not yet approved of your odd relationship of his...whatever she is to him.”

Her friend groans, throwing up her arms dramatically. “I don’t understand what his problem is. I would respect his protective instincts if he were as family to her, but he _isn’t_. Not really.”

This complaint is not a new one. Thancred’s bad attitude had begun some moons ago, and his relationships among the Scions have steadily grown more strained. If she had to guess, his sudden change in attitude is coming from the realization that Minfilia has done a lot of growing lately, and he has had no part in it whatsoever. Oh, he attempts to, when he’s sober, not chasing after women, or working until he’s barely able to stand straight. Which is to say, almost never. Frankly, the man cannot be counted on for support in the way that Minfilia deserves, and now that he realizes it, he’s overcompensating.

Unfortunately, that means he is taking out much of his frustration on Miheone, who is not one to coddle any man. Ivoix unquestionably takes his lover’s side, but is more devoted to ensuring that the squabble does not affect Minfilia. Yda and Y’shtola are similarly unimpressed, both often complaining that Thancred needs a good hit or twelve.

Given another moon, she’s certain that Yda will snap and give him a proper beating.

“That’s all very interesting,” she says disingenuously, “but I’ve a sick mate to feed, and Lyse just sent one of her Mhigans with her report.”

“Hmph. That one certainly has been active lately. Has she been home at all in the last moon?”

“No. From the way she’s been acting, I’m guessing the poor thing figured out she’s in love with Y’shtola, but didn’t quite get so far as figuring out that Y’shtola has returned the sentiment for years. You and her ought to commiserate about your terrible love lives.”

Miheone growls at her, but takes the hint and leaves her to her cooking, though not without a parting shot of, “You’re the _last_ person to talk about unrequited love!”

Normally a comment of that sort would earn the offender a prompt object thrown at their face, but she allows Miheone a pass today. Her friend has been stressed, and merely needs time alone.

Miheone is gone when she finishes, in all likelihood having gone down to spend time relaxing at the nearby beach bar.

It is something she will worry about later. Currently, Mhitra is awaiting food, though it will be difficult to coerce her away from her nest of blankets and tissue.

“You better be awake, love.”

A pitiful groan is her answer.

“And you say _I’m_ the dramatic one? You’re sick, not dying. I’ve soup for you.”

Ears that are poking out of the pile of blankets twitch, and the blanket slowly moves down. Eyes stare over the edge of the blanket, barely visible in the dim light of the room.

“Chicken?” her mate asks with a sniffle.

“Of course. Come on now.”

Mhitra reluctantly sits up, the aches caused by her fever evident in her winces and slow movements.

“Maybe next time don’t shop for Raf’s nameday present when it’s storming out, hmm?”

“It was worth it,” Mhitra claims stubbornly. As if the gods are presenting an argument, she immediately sneezes. The soup sloshes dangerously close to the edges, and she has to fight back her instinct to yank it away.

Then she sneezes again. And again. And again.

Most of the soup is saved, but her mate looks so miserable at the loss that she already has resolved herself to acquiring more.

“Was it, now?”

“...Yes?”

**44\. Two Roads**

“Are you sure about this?”

She nods in response to Yda’s question. Not that she needed to; Yda has already turned her attention back to the papers in her hand, muttering details to herself and planning adjustments to her proposal. A proposal that will see Yda home more often, but also taking on far more administrative work than she is used to.

“And you don’t intend to tell the others?”

“No,” she says firmly. “This _must_ be operated without visible ties to the Scions. As you already consistently travel to Little Ala Mhigo, Gridania, _and_ Limsa Lominsa your movements will not raise questions among those watching us.”

Yda hums, approval clear in her expression. “So this is why you’ve been so busy lately. And here I thought Miheone was to blame for your sleepless nights.”

The insinuation catches her by surprise. “Yda!” she protests, cheeks burning from embarrassment. This is _not_ a topic she wishes to speak of. Krile’s continued tormenting is enough for her poor heart. “We’re friends and nothing more!”

“Between _all_ of my sisters and Hahette, I have seen every lovesick expression ever invented,” Yda says with a laugh. “For Rhalgr’s sake, just don’t pine away as uselessly as they’re prone to. Miheone, well, she would give you the world if you asked it of her. Not that you would, but guiding you to freedom is just as good, it seems.”

Freedom? The word strikes a chord in her. She hadn’t considered herself to be trapped, but she cannot deny that the more her -and Miheone’s- plans came to life, the less... _chained_ she felt. The path the Scions needed to walk, the neutrality they needed to maintain, was made difficult by the fact that they relied partially on the grand companies for information and help. 

_“It’s arrogant, when you think of it. Showing up out of Sharlayan, who is not so very popular for good reasons, declaring you know how to help them better than they can help themselves? Only the threat of the primals allowed Leveilleur to get away with that. Any leader would be well within their rights to be offended by such declarations, and someday they might decide to be, primals or no.”_

What the grand companies didn’t give them, the influence of Louisoix’s name and money was used to obtain. It was enough to build a solid foundation, enough for her to keep the organization neutral, if barely.

Miheone had been right when she declared politics too unreliable to bet her future on. She had fully intended to, of coursed, and she had been successful at it for years; enough that she at first hesitated to walk down the path Miheone offered.

No, that’s incorrect. She hesitated to take this path until the moment she placed those documents in Yda’s hands.

_“It will take time, Minfilia. Time to grow, time to_ see _the change, time spent wondering if all the thankless work is worth it. But it will be. If I can make any promise at all, is it that.”_

There is no going back now. With those papers and Yda’s support, the Scions will be free from the influence of the grand companies, free from relying on the Leveilleur connections and money. This is the first step to becoming what they were always meant to be.

And if they execute this properly, Eorzea will never suspect the true level of their independence.

**45\. Illusion**

Yda has come home to countless sorts of disasters over the years. At the Sharlayan Islands, Lyse was constantly attempting to redecorate the house, or make obstacle courses for Vochstein. Mhitra tended to leave books everywhere, and Y’shtola was little better, only she _also_ had potions on every table when she stayed for extended periods. After the Calamity and the acquisition of their own beachside home…

Well. They have _three children_ to add to the chaos now.

“Wawakuma? Why...is my house a cave?”

The Archon and current babysitter for the three children waves his hand. “T’is but an illusion, obviously. They wanted to have an adventure.”

“An illusion,” he says, as if he had not layered half a dozen different spells for the walls alone, as if their furniture has not been entirely rearranged for the setup, as if many of the decorations aren’t handmade creations.

“That’s a lot of effort for an _illusion_ ,” she teases the man. Though five years older than her and often proclaiming that he wants nothing to do with children, he is always willing to watch after _her_ children.

They always claimed him to be their favorite babysitter, and now she knows why.

“So what’s the adventure?”

“They’re rescuing a dragon.”

Rescuing, not hunting? That...sounds like something the children would do. Sae and Raf may not have as hard a life as Lyse and her did in Sharlayan, but they are still refugees, and not even Limsa is free from the derogatory attitude that most give Gyr Abanians. The number of Mhigans that Hahette employs sees the children in constant contact with those who have endured the scorn of Eorzeans; people who are quick to advise the children against trusting their so-called countrymen.

Being cast as outsiders and enemies from a young age, of course the children would come up with the idea of rescuing a historically dangerous creature. To them, their biggest enemies have always been _people_ , not monsters.

Suddenly, a muffled explosion sounds from somewhere upstairs.

“Ah. It appears Vochstein triggered the trap on the tenth ward. His advancement over the last year is frightening indeed.”

Two horrified screams and one alarmed whistle follow the sound of the explosion.

“...What’s the trap?”

There’s a thud, and another smaller explosion.

“Just a few snakes. Illusions, aside from the red paint they will shower the children with when defeated.”

“...I am _not_ cleaning that up. Just so we’re clear.”

Wawakuma coughs. “Right. No worries. It isn’t permanent.”

Another round of screaming and thuds, then a flash. She winces, and isn’t reassured at all when Wawakuma does the same.

“Someone tripped the floor trap.”

“So...what are the conditions for defeat?”

“Spells on their armor will register fatal hits. This is their best run yet. They’ve lasted over a bell.”

She blinks at Wawakuma, glances upstairs, then shakes her head. If the kids are distracted, then that means she has peace for a time. A rare thing, these days. She loves her family, but sometimes she just wants a day to herself. No work, no responsibilities, nothing but food, alcohol, and sleep.

But for now, she’ll take being able to eat in relative silence. It lasts for half a bell, when, after a final round of booming, Ivoix carries the three defeated -and knocked out- children downstairs and dumps them on the couch.

“They came close, but victory is not theirs today!” he announces cheerfully. “Raforta is a delightfully cunning child, but she has much to learn from her mother.”

“We don’t need another Mhitra,” she protests with a sigh. Rhalgr, just the _thought_ of Raf taking on Mhitra’s more annoying traits gives her a headache. Eorzea wouldn’t be able to handle it. Or Hahette.

“We’ve compiled a list of skills they need to improve upon. Vochstein in particular may be capable of reading spells from a distance, given the proper training. What I wouldn’t give to see the world as he does…” Ivoix gives the sleeping familiar a wistful look. Being their resident potions expert, she often forgets that he is also an accomplished researcher in the field of aetherology.

The conversation veers into what training Vochstein would need to further his budding skills. With an ability of this sort being so rare, and being unable to see the world as he does, they quickly are at a loss as to how they proceed.

It’s a quandary for Y’shtola, they all declare soon after.

“...I’ve been meaning to ask,” Wawakuma says after their decision. “Why do you not call Y’shtola by her true name? Is she not just as much family as Y’mhitra?”

She blinks. “Well. Yeah, but I once told Mhitra that I’d call Y’shtola by her true name the day she married Lyse.”

Understanding dawns on Wawakuma’s face, even as Ivoix starts laughing.

“Y’shtola asked me herself, not too long ago. She was so offended by my reasoning that she stormed out before I could tell her that Lyse wouldn’t hesitate to agree.” Shaking her head, she wonders again at how oblivious Lyse and Y’shtola are. They struggle and fight to maintain their illusion of “dear friendship,” even as every action and word they speak otherwise declares them in love.

It’s almost pitiful, honestly, that two women as brave as them are so frightened of risking their relationship.

“One of them will break, eventually,” Wawakuma says, holding his hand to his forehead.

“The Spirits have a betting pool, if you want in on that,” she adds with snort.

“I don’t gamble on unfavorable odds.”

Ivoix rolls his eyes. “Oh, like that little incident in the mines?”

“That was a _calculated risk_!”

“Your calculations need some work.”

“Minfilia almost had a heart attack when she read that report.”

“ _Anyway_! Back to the children’s abilities!”

**46\. Family**

It started like this.

Raforta was an odd child. Distrustful of adults, yet in dire need of comfort, Hahette did the only thing she could; coerce the girl to relax by treating her to hot chocolate every night and morning. The girl learned to start and end her day with calming treat, which helped soothe her turbulent emotions of the initial move to Eorzea.

She was not _loved_ by the child, but she was trusted, and that was perfectly fine as Raf gravitated toward Y’mhitra. In that respect, they understood each other.

The days and moons after the Calamity were rougher, especially in the time they believed Lyse dead, Yda was stuck in Gridania, and Y’shtola was sinking into a depression her family feared she would lose herself in. It was not uncommon in those days for her to come home from a mission and find either both children or Raf alone on the couch. Sae, after all, could not be moved from Lyse’s bed aside for dinner or work in Limsa.

Raf would shyly watch her -hiding her disappointment that Y’mhitra was not yet home, for she only ever waited on the couch when her mother figure was out late- and she, unable to bear such sadness, would make a warm drink and sit with the child. Rarely would Raf speak, but she would cling tightly to her arm all the same.

She would be lying if she said that she didn’t miss those nights after the Hext/Rhuls acquired their new house.

That isn’t to say her interactions with Raf were done with. No, she often found herself retrieving the children from lessons, watching over them and feeding them if their family had to work into the night.

It started with small things; Raf asking for help with calculations, or her supervision when testing out a new spell, or her opinion on her colorful drawings. Somehow, some of the drawings wound up being proudly pinned to the walls of her room and office. Raf became more open as time went on, greeting her with smiles and rambling about her lessons before they could walk out of the school building. The teachers would compliment the girl, then started giving her updates, then started inviting her and Y’mhitra to parent-teacher meetings.

Before she could bring it up with Y’mhitra, their souls were bound by ancient magic and she had other things on her mind for a while.

Hard to forget now, with Raforta sleeping on top of her. The child has grown, but to her Elezen height, she is still a small thing. Too precocious by half, granted, with a sharp wit that will turn cutting with age.

“We need to review our lessons about tact again,” she says into the silence of the Hext/Rhul living room.

Mhitra laughs softly and nudges the legs that are across her lap with the book she has been attempting to translate for the last sennight. “Children will be children, Hahette. Sae was not offended.”

“Because he is used to her. When we attend the parent-teacher meeting, I guarantee they will express concerns about her difficulties making friends.”

“...We?” Mhitra puts her book down and tilts her head at her. “They consider you her other mother?”

“They have for a year now,” she affirms absently. She is too caught up in examining Raf’s hair to pay much attention to the conversation. The girl needs a trim soon. Perhaps she ought to get some of the Mhigans to braid it for her in the highlander way. The gods know Raf can’t be bothered with brushing her hair twice a day as she should.

“Perhaps it’s time to make it official.”

“Hmm.”

“It will make future paperwork simpler.”

“Yeah.”

“Whose name do you think she prefers to list first?”

“Yours, obviou-wait. What? We aren’t married?”

“The three of us have tomorrow afternoon free.”

“Hold-”

“I’m sure Saemundr won’t mind coming with us. He’ll be disappointed that he won’t have time to make us gifts, though.”

“How long have you been thinking about this?!”

“Just now.”

Her mind cannot find a grip on words of protest, mouth opening and closing until she gives in with a huff. “Fine, but you’re telling Lyse that she missed it.”

“....When is she due back?”

“Three days.”

“We can wait.”

**47\. Creation**

“What do you think?”

Vochstein tilts his head.

“It’s for you!”

A happy whistle.

“Purple and gold, for Ala Mhigo! I wanted to do the design of the Resistance, but I’m not very good at them yet. It’s short, too, so it won’t get in the way of your wings. Or get caught on your earrings.”

Vochstein hops into his lap, chirping too fast for it to be huntspeak. He wishes he could understand his brother’s words, could hear his soul like Lyse and Shtola and Minfilia do. They make it work, though. Sometimes they don’t even _need_ words, because they have lived together long enough to be true siblings, however strange a creature Vochstein is.

Brothers have to stick together, right?

“Did I tell you that I want to make some leather gloves for mo-Yda?” He cringes at the lapse. He’s been doing that a lot, lately, referring to Yda as “mom.” Thankfully not in front of the woman herself, but Raf and Hahette both have heard him do it. “Right, um. She doesn’t have a good pair that keep her hands warm when she’s doing paperwork. I’ve been practicing my sewing, and I think I can make a pair good enough to last now!”

Yda had never needed them before, but with the new project Minfilia has given her, she is home almost _every night_ , and complains about how many papers she has to sign now. He hopes the paperwork doesn’t drive her to give up the project, because having Yda home so often is like a dream come true. She helps him with homework, and training, and is nice to Llinha, and makes them snacks, and even _plays with them_ if she finishes her work early enough. Not that she didn’t do those things before, but they were rare occasions.

He hadn’t thought he could be happier living with the Hext and Rhul sisters, but the last moons have proven him wrong.

Vochstein rolls over and holds up his legs. The leather bindings around them are worn and dirty. Still serviceable in battle, due to the spells imbued in the leather, but for casual wear, he could use new ones.

“How about some red ones? Those old purple ones don’t match the scarf. Oh! Maybe I can make some matching wrist sleeves for your moms!”

Making clothes for Shtola always makes him nervous - _she’s so pretty_ \- but Vochstein is so excited about the idea that he pushes away his doubts and starts planning how he wants to start his new project. He’ll need to ask Hahette for extra work. His supplies are running low, and though he knows Yda will buy him what he needs if it isn’t much, he wants to do as much on his own as possible. He’s too young to help his family fight, or protect them, but creating something small that makes them smile? He can do _that_.

“There you are,” Lyse declares, peering into his room. Her face is streaked with dirt, even though she was only supposed to be fixing the fence. “Do you want chicken soup or fish soup for dinner?”

“Chicken, please.”

“Oh, is that a new scarf? It’s cute!”

Blushing from the praise, he picks up his now preening brother. No, maybe it isn’t impressive that he can only make knitted accessories, but it’s enough.

“Thank you, Lyse. Do you know if Hahette has more work for me?”

The smirk Lyse gives him _almost_ makes him regret asking, but Hexts don’t run away from work, and he likes to think he’s a Hext in all but name.

“Oh, we have work. And I’ll tell you what. If you can do a small job for me, I’ll get you that weaver’s book you saw last moon.”

“Deal!”

**48\. Childhood**

He had been a normal child, once. A child that dreamed of going on adventures, a child that cried when he scratched his knee, a child that smiled and laughed and had no worries.

Then the slavers came. His mother screamed and screamed and screamed for him, and then she was gone.

And then. Then there was only pain, and darkness, and _blood_.

And then. He was saved. By Ashaht. By Lyse. By the other Yellowjackets.

But he isn’t normal. He will never be normal again. Normal kids don’t have panic attacks when they see dogs, or faint when they see blood, or dream of their mother being murdered over and over again. They don’t have scars on their arms and back and legs. They don’t know what it is to spend what feels like a lifetime in chains, surrounded by strangers, agony, and the dark.

He doesn’t know how to be a child, and all the other children know it. They laughed at him, avoided him, called him names, and made fun of him when something scared him. He will never fit in, he realized one day.

It was fine as long as he had his new mothers and his new sister. They helped him, protected him, made him feel safe. His childhood was long gone, but he thought he could be happy someday in the far future when the nightmares stopped and his scars healed.

Until he _did_ find a friend. Many friends. Two human friends, a Vochstein, all the Hexts, Rhuls, and the people in Hahette’s company. Avaldr’s orphan family accepted him without blinking, inviting him to play games, and never making fun of him for being scared. Before he knows it, he is _happy_.

He still has his bad nights, though. Nights like this one, when old memories haunt his dreams. And it doesn’t help that Sae’s arms are wrapped around him as tightly as any chain. Some days it’s comforting, others it coincides terribly with his nightmares. After all these years, though, he doesn’t panic when he wakes up anymore. It takes some effort, but he manages to escape from his best friend’s hold so he can get. 

He’s proud of that; Sae is older, taller, and stronger than him. At thirteen, his friend has been training as a pugilist for five years now. He has more muscle than he looks like he does, but Yda says he’ll fill out when he stops growing.

She laughed at the dismayed face he made, then, promising that he isn’t quite done growing yet himself.

“You’re up late. Bad dreams?”

He yelps, almost dropping the lemon cake leftover from dinner. “Why are you so quiet?! You’re not even a Miqo’te!” he demands loudly. He doesn’t have to worry about waking anyone thanks to the soundproofing spells on all the doors. The magic of the Rhul sisters never ceases to impress him, so much that he has taken to peeking at Y’shtola’s books when she isn’t home.

They don’t make much sense to him, but he’s slowly working through the beginner’s book he found last year.

“Training,” Lyse sings as she helps herself to some cake. “You should train your ears. Sae will be the same someday.”

Narrowing his eyes, he wonders how Sae, clumsy and loud, could ever be as quiet as Lyse.

Then he remembers that Lyse is so successful at scaring him because she is almost _never_ quiet. Graceful, maybe, but talkative, and likes tap on hard surfaces when she has to sit still.

“I’ll put a bell on him,” he firmly declares after accepting that his friend might someday be capable of stealth.

Lyse chokes on her cake, coughing so hard that crumbs fly in the air. Far from being in pain, however, she is overcome with laughter. Covering her mouth to contain the food, she rests her head on the table until she can breathe again. “You know,” she says breathlessly, “Shtola once threatened to do the same to me.”

“... _You need one too_!”

“Mhitra tried it when I was younger. It didn’t help once I got used to it. Now finish your milk and go back to bed. We’re going to the market in the morning.”

His ears perk up at the mention of the market. It took him years to endure a crowd of people without freaking out, and learned to avoid the market in particular shortly after his rescue. He still doesn’t like to go very often, but it’s easier with family and friends at his side.

After finishing his milk and putting the cup in the sink, Lyse leads him to bed with her arm around his shoulders. He can’t help but lean into her, soaking in her warmth, kindness, and love. It’s easy to see why Ashaht considers her family; she has a way of making you feel special. Important. _Cared for_.

Sae is awake when he crawls back into bed.

“Was I holding too hard?” he asks, voice weak from shame.

“No,” he assures him. “I was just hungry.”

That eases his friend’s mind, and he happily hands over the stuffed chocobo Ashaht had given him for his nameday last moon. He settles into bed easily, all memory of his nightmare gone.

It will return someday, but his fear doesn’t rule him. Not anymore. They’re nothing but bad dreams, now, and what are bad dreams compared to the smiles of his family, the laughter of his friends, and Sae protecting him?

**49\. Stripes**

If there’s anything she has learned about children over the years, it’s that they are a fount of creativity. Sharlayan as a rule does not often encourage creativity that can’t be applied to practical uses, but the Hext sisters never adopted such a way of thinking. Nearly every one of her visits to Mhitra, Lyse, and Yda had involved building indoor “forts” or creating -badly designed- decorations for whatever reason Lyse found suitable.

The three children they have adopted into their family are no less creative. If anything, they are _far more_ so than Lyse ever was. Raforta and Vochstein’s drawings are plastered everywhere in the house, and Sae’s homemade knitting and sewing projects are part of all their wardrobes. Music boxes are piled around a handmade set of drums, maracas, and a tambourine; instruments gifted to Vochstein by residents of Little Ala Mhigo.

According to Lyse, their son is quite popular among the refugees, who have taken it upon themselves to teach him traditional music.

Despite not having ever nurtured an interest in such things themselves, all adults in the family agreed to encourage the children in their hobbies.

That isn’t to say that they don’t have...mishaps, however.

“ _Mother! You are home early!”_

Depositing her bag on the desk next to the door, she greets her son tiredly. Her attention is entirely focused on removing her jacket and boots; both dirty after two long sennights of work in Coerthas. The calming, warm sea breeze and moderate temperature of Vylbrand is something she appreciates the most after assisting the Observatorium.

_“Are you hungry? Cold? Tired? Do you want us to retrieve anything? Shall I get mother? Oh, but she is doing paperwork with Hahette. Or aunt Mhitra? She has been downstairs since this morning, but she will be happy to see you, I think.”_

She chuckles at his rambling, even if it is odd that he hasn’t flown to her for a hug, and what is that pungent smell in the air? Paint? “No, little one. Let the others continue their work undisturbed. I will make my own di-”

She stops.

Blinks.

Blinks again.

“...Vochstein? What are you doing?”

Her son wags his tail, but does not move from the pile of papers he is spread out on. Papers that are covered in dry paint marks.

Just as her son is _covered in paint_.

_“The paint must dry! We did not want to stain anything, so Sae put down these papers for me. Do not worry, mother. Raf and Sae are looking for a paint finisher upstairs. I was not left alone.”_

He is so eager to assure her that he was not abandoned that any reproach dies on her tongue. Instead, she settles for dazedly complimenting him. “That’s a dashing look for you, little one. But perhaps next time you should consult us before using _aether conductive ink_ in your paint.”

_“It’s okay! Aunt Mhitra approved the design!”_

Internally scowling at the information, for she is certain that Mhitra paid no attention to the papers before giving her approval, she forces herself to walk to her son and investigate the children’s artwork without giving a hint of her exasperation. Vochstein is a sensitive child; a trait inherited from Lyse. Disapproval and anger, even imagined, ruins his mood for days.

No longer pure white, Vochstein’s feathers have the appearance of being halfway dipped in paint. Starting at the tips of his ears -singular points of bright red- the feathers fade into purple. The colors taper almost smoothly, marking the culprits as not untalented. They did not, however, color the feathers far down enough, the white of his base colors giving the appearance of stripes, interrupting the otherwise smooth gradient.

It isn’t _terrible_ , per se.

But it certainly isn’t something she expected to come home to. And judging by the paint marks on the papers that don’t match her son’s, Vochstein isn’t the only one who was treated to a makeover.

“On second thought, I will acquire dinner from the market. Tell your siblings to wash up before I return,” she says, adjusting the papers so that her son may have more freedom of movement. “You will want to settle in the sun when they are finished, that your paint may dry faster.”

_“Yes, mother!”_

Only when she is safe within the confines of the company house across the street does she cover her eyes and groan. “Lyse!” she calls as she climbs the stairs.

The door to Hahette’s office opens and her friend peers out. Her eyes light up with joy at seeing her, then her expression turns hesitant when she spots her scowl.

“Uh, Shtola? Is something...wrong?”

“ _Your_ _son_ and the other two children got it into their heads to give each other a makeover. With _paint_.” Lyse instantly blanches, and Hahette starts laughing from sheer delight at the news. “Please watch over them while I get dinner, and maybe impress upon them the importance of _asking_ before turning their creativity on their person.”

Her order thus delivered, she turns on her heel and marches off to get food. Behind her, Lyse laments the turn of events and grumbles at Hahette to join her since, “Raforta is half yours anyway so _come on_.”

Never a dull moment, she supposes.

Still. Red and purple? How overzealously Gyr Abanian of her son. Perhaps she should be glad the children didn’t also decide to dip his claws and beak in gold paint to finish off the look.

...Hopefully Lyse remembers to scold the children after she is done admiring their handiwork.

**50\. Breaking the Rules**

“I say we just go in and start cracking skulls.”

“So we can have every bloody pirate in the area after our heads? Gimme whatever it is yer drinkin’ cause ain’t no one _born_ that stupid.”

“We ought to wait until they leave and ambush them.”

Hahette ignores the arguing of her rather new companions. Three moons since she left Sharlayan again to start a free company, and already she is tempted to return to being Y’mhitra’s errand-runner. This lot is skilled, yes, but apparently _all_ of them just have to have the _last gods damned word of every argument_.

Tragzhirn is a proud Sea Wolf; he primarily wields an axe, but is no slouch at fistfighting due to his size alone. As per his namesake, is slow to anger, but gods have mercy on those who manage it. At all other times, he is jovial enough, always up for a challenge, well traveled, and has a soft spot for children.

It is the last trait in particular that earned Avaldr’s approval. Their sole Hyuran -mostly, for there are obvious signs of Elezen ancestry in his height and slightly pointed ears- comes from an orphanage that was left without caretakers in recent years. Being the oldest,strongest, and best archer of the lot, Ava took up adventuring in hopes of providing for his abandoned “siblings.”

His first forays into professional hunting saw him cross paths with Miheone, herself still a young adventurer. The half Elezen half Sea Wolf helped the man avoid the many missteps she had made herself in the first year of adventuring; advice that she had received from Hahette, who had taken to watching out for the young woman after their first amusing meeting.

Granted, that advice was imparted with a heavy dose of sarcasm and teasing, but the challenges energized Miheone, her annoyance adding extra strength to her sword slashes.

“Enough. Trag, your face is unknown to them, so go pick a fight with whatever pirates you wish. Ava, make sure a healthy amount of alcohol is directed to our targets. Once they’re angry enough to leave, Miheone and I will take care of them.”

Trag finds her plan more than agreeable, and though Ava complains, he doesn’t look too upset at the prospect of dumping alcohol on the group that broke their truce on the last mission.

“This is unusually simple for you,” Miheone notes while they wait in the forest beyond the bar.

“I don’t waste effort on cheaters,” she replies with a wave of her hand.

“Right,” Miheone says, her tone remarkably similar to how she responds to Lyse when the kid insists that she is _not_ counting the days between Y’shtola’s visits. “And it has nothing to do with you being nervous about the package you sent your lover?”

“She is _not_ my lover!”

Miheone scoffs. “Right.”

Hand itching for her sword, she settles for a scowl, wondering if founding a free company is worth the insubordination of overconfident young adventurers.

‘ _What have I gotten myself into?’_


	6. 51-60

**51\. Sport**

Lyse had never been one to “fit in” with other children. Not in Sharlayan, where she was too new and too hyper and too _Ala Mhigan_ to make friends easily. Where she read too slow and played too hard. When she had nightmares of blood, death, and fire, and other children had nightmares about shadows and bad grades.

Yda was luckier in that her early childhood was free of horror, but she has never been one to go out of her way to socialize, and she spent more time training than playing. Even more so after the temple was destroyed, she was born, and they moved to Ala Mhigo.

“Just another Hext thing” they shrug it off as. Lady luck graces them in strange ways, but fitting in as normal children hadn’t been one of them.

With Raf and Llhinah sitting miserably on the couch across from her, shakily but determinedly explaining why they “attacked” a group of children with a magicked volleyball and a flurry of weak stinging spells, she wonders if maybe the Hext curse is contagious in some way. The two are bloody, bruised, and shaking from adrenaline and anger, but they aren’t _too_ beat up at least.

“They were calling her names! And stole our ball!”

“I didn’t _want_ to scare them! I mean, I did, but wasn’t _going_ to.”

“I asked them to leave her alone but they wouldn’t listen!”

“They pushed me for no reason and hit him in the face with the ball!”

“It hurt, and there was blood, and I was scared, and I didn’t want them to hurt her too, and the ball was right there and I just!”

“He didn’t even hurt the jerk that much, but then his stupid friends started yelling and grabbed Llhinah and they _hit me_!”

She lets the two explain while she patches them up. It gives her time to figure out what she wants to say to them and how to do it without screwing it up. This sort of situation isn’t normally something she has to deal with; Vochstein certainly isn’t causing trouble like this, and typically Hahette or Yda are around to handle the other children. Hahette, however, is in Gridania for work -and spending personal time with Mhitra- and Yda is in Coerthas helping some medic from the Gyr Abanian side of the Resistance.

“I’m not mad,” she says when Raf starts sniffling and Llhinah hides behind her shoulder. “I’m pretty sure that wasn’t the best way to deal with a bully, _but_ they started it first, and you were outnumbered. If their parents try to say anything about it, we’ll deal with them appropriately. I have a lot of things I would like to say to _them_ , honestly.”

The children are so relieved they start crying. They’re used to the occasional name calling, but the sudden escalation to physical violence frightened them. Raf and Sae don’t talk much about the uncle that abandoned them, but she remembers how Sae reacted the first time they met; how he curled in and immediately protected his face when she surprised him. Though Raf doesn’t remember the man well, she clearly remembers his fists enough to despise physical violence.

As for Llhinah, well. He’s strong, mentally and emotionally. Not so physically. He is the shortest of the children, and his past instilled in him a thorough distaste for violence in any form. That he was hurt is one thing; that he was angry enough to fight back is probably the worst part of the whole incident for him.

For the first time, she regrets allowing Sae to tag along for local delivery missions. His presence would have prevented all of this, or at the very least seen his friend and sister home without injury. Vochstein, too, would have been an effective bully deterrent; his claws are sharp and he knows half a dozen non-lethal spells that would easily scare off children.

“We just wanted to play,” Llhinah whispers sadly.

Heart clenching, she curses the cruelty of children and pats his head. “When I was sad,” she starts thoughtfully, “I would make blanket forts. _Huge_ ones, in the living room. It made me feel less lonely.”

The children perk up, curiosity winning out over their sadness when she casually muses on how big a fort they can make if they use _all_ the blankets. And she knows that one of Shtola’s low-level spellbooks has a section dedicated spelling things to float by themselves, _and_ wouldn’t it be neat if they make a fort that resembles Gyr Abanian tents?

That’s all it takes for the two of them to excitedly begin scavenging blankets and pillows from every corner of the house. Bags of snacks pile around them, then books, art supplies, and toys. By dinner time, the incident is entirely forgotten, with the three of them laughing and playing while they make sandwiches with questionable ingredients. Sae’s eventual return only adds to the chaos.

Lyse prides herself on her stamina and strength, but keeping up with three kids hyped up on sugar and the euphoria of building the best damn blanket fort in _all of Eorzea_?

She doesn’t remember falling asleep, and wakes up to Ashaht laughing and her limbs numb from the children using them as pillows.

“Ashaht? Ugh. What time is it?”

“Third bell. Had I known you were having this much fun, I would have skipped out early.”

Whimpering, she pouts at her friend and silently begs for help.

Ashaht rolls her eyes, unimpressed as usual with her pout -yet obliging as always- and helps move the children, the toys, and the blankets all piled up on her. Even with only the faint light of the floating crystals in the fort, it doesn’t take her long to notice the bruising on her brother’s face, her entire body freezing at the sight.

“Bullies,” she explains quietly. Sitting up with wince, she wiggles her fingers as the blood returns to them. “Apparently they were bothering Raf, and when he intervened, the bullies decided to get violent. They were scared off with some inventive spells, but Raf and Llhinah were shaken up.”

“...So you built a blanket fort and gave them enough snacks to put them in a sugar coma.” Ashaht sighs, but she isn’t angry, or even derisive. Just sad. Her friend and former partner never shies away from a fight, and rarely hesitates to speak her mind, but never has she expected that attitude from her adopted brother.

If Llhinah doesn’t like fighting, she doesn’t speak of her more violent missions.

If Llhinah doesn’t like blood, she makes sure to wash up before she goes home.

And if _anyone_ hurts him, she makes sure that they never come near him again.

But it’s frowned upon to kill children, even if they’re rotten brats, and some fights Llhinah will have to face himself. She knows Ashaht has worked hard to see to it that he can be strong when he needs to be, and this is proof that she has prepared him well. He has come a long way from the tortured and traumatized child clinging to her in a dark cave.

But he’s still Ashaht’s brother, and she will still worry regardless of his progress.

It’s easy to pull Ashaht up and into her arms, muttering vague reassurances that Llhinah will be fine, she has done well, he is strong and he has his family and friends to help him.

It’s easy to return the kiss her friend initiates, holding each other bruisingly tight and eager to find an outlet for their frustration. They stumble their way upstairs, headed for her room, but she suddenly remembers that Ashaht is freshly arrived from field training and she spent half a day building the best blanket fort ever, so they mutually agree that a hot bath would be _perfect_ for this occasion.

The sky is grey and birds are starting to sing when they slip back into the blanket fort, freshly bathed and their desire satisfied. Llhinah stirs at their arrival, immediately latching onto his sister when he registers her presence. He doesn’t seem upset, or to be suffering from nightmares as he used to after stressful situations. From how easily he settles, he probably wasn’t even fully awake when he moved.

“A day on the beach sounds nice.”

She grunts at Ashaht’s words and thinks of the work she has to do the next day. There’s plenty to keep her busy, but nothing urgent. What’s paperwork compared to time with some of her family, however unconventional it is? If only Shtola, Vochstein, and her sisters were home too. “Yeah. We’ll need a new volleyball though.”

Ashaht snickers. “I’ll get him all the toys he wants, for what he did.”

**52\. Deep in thought**

R’ashaht Rhiki is a fighter through and through, but she didn’t rise to the rank of lieutenant with her axe skills alone. No, sometimes words had to be used as weapons, or as shields to prevent a fight from ever happening.

This isn’t exactly a situation so dire or nerve wracking as some she faces as an officer in a city of pirates, so after a day of hard thinking, she chooses instead to be blunt and forward as is her nature.

“So are you _exclusive_ mates or am I allowed to continue having sex with Lyse?”

Y’shtola wrinkles her nose, regarding her question with all the enthusiasm she typically reserves for dirt or cheaply made shoes. It’s the only complaint she will make, as R’ashaht has already declared that their lunch in the city is on her. They’re friendly enough that Y’shtola will accept free food as a bribe, and she has known about the Scion’s feelings for Lyse nearly as long as she has _been_ a Scion. If Y’shtola has ever wanted to rant about Lyse without being teased to the seventh hell and back, R’ashaht is the one she turns to. It’s a weird sort of friendship, but it works for them, and Lyse is happy in the knowledge that two of her favorite people “get along.”

“You once told me that you’ve no interest in her as a mate. Has that changed?”

“Not in the least.”

“Then I see no issue.”

Simple, easy, and exactly as she expected. In matters of love and mates, however, it’s best to know where boundaries need to be set. Assuming only leads to broken hearts and broken bones.

Or so her mother impressed upon her as a child.

She has often wondered what troubles her mother got into for her to be so adamant about communication in relationships, but her questions have only ever been met with a grimace and hard clap on her shoulder.

_“Just remember my words, Ashaht. Be open about what you want. Better to know than to waste your time with someone unworthy of your attention.”_

Open, huh?

...Open…

Narrowing her eyes suspiciously at Y’shtola, she says, “Do you mean to _join_ -”

“By the. NO!” Y’shtola sputters, offended and embarrassed in equal degrees.

“Thought so. Okay.”

Not that Y’shtola Rhul isn’t beautiful, but sharp wits and sharper tongue isn’t her go-to type, and after years of enduring Lyse’s exuberant fawning over her mate-but-not, she can’t bring herself to muster an onze of sexual interest in her. Besides, it’s embarrassing enough to watch those two drool over each other outside of the bedroom; trying to imagine what they’re like _inside_ of it now that they’ve properly acknowledged that they’re idiots and also in love makes her nauseous.

Still, she’s relieved that Y’shtola isn’t a possessive type. She would have respected the woman’s decision whatever it happened to be -Lyse is one of her best friends with or without sex- but why resign herself to giving up the occassional tryst with Lyse if she doesn’t need to?

“Anyway, for the actual reason I invited you out.”

“Oh, this isn’t just a bribe?”

“Why not both? Wait until you see this mission, though. ...Dessert is on me too.”

“...I’m already regretting agreeing to lunch.”

**53\. Secret**

Sometimes, Minfilia feels as though her entire life is defined by secrets. Secrets, and the lies told to protect them.

She lived with her father’s secrets, his feigned loyalty to Garlemald.

She hid her name and gave herself a new one, repeating it to herself through her tears and pain until “Ascila” meant nothing to her.

She pretended that she loved F'lhaminn - _though that lie eventually came true_ -

She tried to hide the strange visions and unnerving ability to see into people’s pasts, to live their emotions, to know their grief and love and anger and joy in such an intimate manner that she felt dirty for moons after the first incident.

She attempted to feign confidence when leading the Path, and again when creating the Scions, to pretend that she knew what she was doing, that she had a plan, that _everything would be fine in the end_.

And she got away with it too, as heartbroken and shattered as Eorzea - _as the Archons_ \- were.

But inside, her confidence wavered and her spirit called out for someone, anyone to hold out a hand to keep her steady and tell her that she was doing well. Even as the Scions settled and all fell into place, her uncertainty only grew over the years.

Until Miheone sauntered into her life with her awful flirting, easy smiles, and easier friendship.

Keeping Miheone a “secret” was never her intention. They did not hide their friendship, though they kept their early travels and meetings with various groups discreet out of professional necessity. The Scions were watched by many, after all, and it was only natural that they downplay or outright lie about the activities involved with establishing her secret non-Scion affiliated “free company.”

But when she finally, _finally_ allowed that relationship to transform from friendship to romance, she told none but Ivoix, for they love and are loved by Miheone just the same, and he has come to be just as important to her, if in a different way.

It wasn’t shame that drove her to keep her relationship status a secret. A desire to keep her professional life separate from her personal one was a factor, yes, but the main motivation was honestly nothing more than simple selfishness. Miheone is everything she dreamed of in her most vulnerable moments, and everything she needed in all the rest of her life.

So caught up in her stolen moments with her love, she truly, honestly _forgets_ to even speak of it with her friends.

Which means that Yda walking into her room while Miheone is giving her a heated kiss startles all three of them.

“Wh. How. _Since when_?!” Yda hisses, keeping her voice low as she shuts the door behind her.

“...A moon,” Miheone answers after a brief, awkward moment of silence. Her face is buried in her lover’s shirt, but she knows Miheone is blushing, if not as strongly as she is.

“Oh. Well. Good. About time.” Yda coughs. “Anyway just letting you know that I’m heading out to Fallgourd Float. Our people got mixed up in some situation down there. They asked for intervention. The locals, not our people, though I’m sure they suggested calling for us, if they’re involved.”

Lifting her head away from Miheone’s shirt, she frowns and tries to recall the details of the mission in Fallgourd. Local poachers were making trouble, but not so much as to require _Scion_ help. Or so she thought.

The situation is curious, but Yda is not alarmed; only grumpy at being woken so early.

“Very well,” she says slowly. “Would you like me to have your present for Sae delivered to Hahette?”

Yda brightens at the reminder of the gift that has yet to be delivered. The original plan had been to hide it in her room here, but if she must travel to Gridania, then there is no telling if she will make it home for his nameday in six days. “Yes, thank you. Sorry for interrupting. I’ll keep you updated bye!”

With typical Hext flair, Yda turns and runs off, shutting the door hard enough for the resulting bang to make her wince.

“Hmph. And she complains about _Lyse_?” Miheone grumbles. Despite her disgruntled tone, her hands are gentle as they slip under her chin, lifting it for another kiss. All worries for Yda, missions, and the troubles of the realm are forgotten quite easily after that.

They have only another bell before Miheone must leave, and they intend to make the most of it.

**54\. Tower**

In the haze of exhaustion, pain, and side-effects of being poisoned, the shining blue of the Crystal Tower is all that keeps her going.

It was meant to be a quick mission; find the scholar that had wandered off with some recently discovered allagan relics, escort him to the Son’s camp, then return home with new books to translate and study. Scholars getting lost is nothing to be alarmed about, in a general sense. In fact, it is such a common occurrence that Rambroes has adventurers on call for this exact situation.

Adventurers that had, unfortunately, been injured after local beasts attacked the main camp three nights ago. Most of the injured had been sent back to the sad collection of stalls and stone buildings that is Revenant’s Toll. The Son’s presence following the rising of the Crystal Tower has enlivened the small “town,” but even Little Ala Mhigo is less bleak.

_‘If those had been Mhigan adventurers, this would have never happened,’_ she complains to herself.

The world loses focus, nearly fading completely to black. A bought of dizziness sees her stumbling, the pain of her aches so great that she hardly notices the new pain of hitting the wall of rock and crystal. Blue, black, and grey swirl in her vision as she slides to the ground. Her limbs refuse to move, either because she has no strength or because she cannot muster the willpower. The frigid air bites her skin through her thin clothes. She ought to have dressed better, but she had been in a hurry. Rushing off without backup or proper gear; it seems her years living with Lyse and Yda have corrupted her.

She is tired, and wants to rest. Wants to be at home, with her mate and her sisters and the children. But home is just so very far away, and she is _so tired_.

Desperation and a profound desire to be with her family drives her to call out across the bond she shares with Hahette, opening it fully for the first time in years. Receiving an alarmed pulse in response, she is content to wait for her mate to arrive. Why had she not done that earlier? 

_‘The tower is pretty at night,’_ she notes deliriously. The tower is blurry and out of focus, but it might be prettier this way.

Darker and darker her vision becomes, the pale blue light of the Crystal Tower the last thing she sees before succumbing to the poison.

**Surprise.**

**Fear.**

**Frustration.**

**Relief.**

**Impatience.**

**‘Reckless, reckless, _reckless_ fool of mine!’**

She wakes with the weight of Hahette’s worry -and her scolding- sitting heavy on her heart.

She is nestled in a cocoon of blankets on a thin mattress - **is waiting impatiently for the soup to finish boiling** \- her mind foggy due to the medications she has no doubt been force fed - **her thoughts scattered, the sight of her mate pale and bleeding out in the Mor Dhonan wilds stuck in her mind** \- and her body entirely out of her control, though she is painfully aware of her aches, bruises, and. Are those stitches on her leg? Oh dear.

With the bond fully open, it is difficult to separate her thoughts from Hahette’s. They keep the bond closed out of respect, and out of fear of what relying on it will cost them, though many passive side-effects remain no matter how tightly they attempt to close it.

It has not been fully opened since the moment it was created -its strength fluctuated wildly in the first moons after the incident- and her lack of energy makes it difficult to center herself amongst the wild river of aether that their once thin bond has become. She would have expected Hahette to mitigate the effects from her end, to keep her from being overwhelmed upon waking, but all she can sense is anger, love, and more than a little frustration.

_‘Ah. She wanted to be sure I received her scolding_.’

How petulant of her mate. Effective, maybe, and will save them a conversation later, but still a touch unnecessary. They had _all_ weathered Shtola and Lyse’s recent fight about such rash actions, and she is quite certain that Hahette sympathizes heavily with Shtola in their current situation. Vocal as Shtola and Lyse were in their arguments, she has a very good idea of what her mate would say if she were present.

After what feels like bells but is merely a minute, Hahette slowly withdraws from the bond. They cannot cut themselves off completely, but they _can_ leave space for each other to center themselves. As she succumbs to the lure of sleep once again, she thinks that they may need to spend more time connecting through their bond. Her glimpse at it was short, but there is no denying that it cannot be left ignored and untended any longer. So tightly bound in their aether, neglecting it is akin to neglecting a limb, nay, an organ; one that will kill them both if they lose control over it.

Their love alone will not spare such a fate, but it is the love and trust they have nurtured for nearly two years that will see them through the mortifying ordeal of being completely _known_ to each other.

**55\. Waiting**

Wilred hates waiting.

It’s a Mhigan thing, the Flame soldiers complain. Always on the move, always eager to keep busy, always willing to give them headaches.

Gundobald says that’s what makes their people excellent warriors.

Archon Hext says it’s what gets people _killed_.

And Captain -not officially but it’s a nickname that stuck however much she protested- Hext says Yda is the last person allowed to lecture others on patience. Then Yda snarls that Lyse is by far the worst of their family when it comes to being impatient and rash. It’s a very common argument between the sisters, but it certainly gives credence to Gundobald’s opinion on the matter. The Hext sisters are the strongest people he has ever met.

But he’s willing to bet that the sisters didn’t become so strong by shoving themselves in an alcove so small it barely deserves the name, in the middle of the day, in the _desert_. The only thing he’s going to get is heat stroke at this rate. And cramps. And his side _itches_.

Why is he here again?

‘ _Because I’m a bloody idiot, that’s why,_ ’ he thinks sourly.

“Vital to the safety of Little Ala Mhigo!” the Flame had declared. “Something _must_ be done!”

Well _he_ shouldn’t have listened, shouldn’t have encouraged him to speak, and definitely shouldn’t have agreed to the task, but he had been _bored_. Bored, and restless, and now he understands why Gundobald says those two things together never fail to be the start of something awful.

Now he’s sitting here, miserable and being cooked in his armor, keeping watch for some supposed dealings with the beast tribe and the Corpse Brigade. Unsurprisingly, he has seen _nothing_. For bells. In any direction.

Not even a gods damned fly.

The alcove, at least, provides some shade in the otherwise punishing heat. Nestled in the mid-level of a cliff, it’s the closest thing to shelter between the Oasis and Little Ala Mhigo. Granted, it doesn’t have water, or trees, or grass, but it has shade, and a grown man can stretch out comfortably without being spotted from most directions. The small climb up to it is more than worth the effort.

_‘Cactus. Rock. Cactus. More rock. Heat waves. Do those count? Eh. Rock. Rock. Cactus. Miqo’te. Amalj’aa. Rock. Ro-’_

He blinks several times. The figures are far off, but not so far that he can’t spot the tell-tale ears of a Miqo’te, and there’s no mistaking the hulking figures giving chase. They aren’t yelling, which is odd, but the way they’re throwing their spears around is a sure sign that whatever is going on can’t be good.

Hunkering down behind the single boulder that protects the alcove from the west, he watches them to determine their path. He needn’t watch long to determine that the Miqo’te is running toward the ruins of Qarn. There are no “roads” that deserve the name, but Southern Thanalan does have a few well-beaten paths. Very few, as there is little in the desert to draw interest from anyone other than the rare trader or supply caravan.

This particular section of the path is avoided for a reason that serves to help him now; it runs along cliffs that make for perfect protection from the sun, and even better hiding spots for ambushes.

A fact that he gets a sudden example of, when a dark shadow descends on him from above.

_‘Ah. Shit.’_

~

“So you were attacked by Amalj’aa and knocked out. But they were amused by the fight, and dragged you back to their camp until you woke up. Then you...tried to fight your way out, and _that’s_ when they tied you up and brought you back here?”

He cringes at Lyse’s -who had stopped by to help the Flames- expression. There is no anger, or disappointment in her bearing, which is good; the extreme confusion and borderline amusement is almost worse, though. The soldiers, adventurers, and civilians alike watching their conversation are doing so while quietly whispering amongst themselves and grinning when he catches their eyes.

‘ _I’m never going to live this down_ ,’ he realizes in horror.

All his hopes of impressing Gundobald, the Hext sisters, and the refugee adventurers that have managed to turn their lives around -to give the people of Little Ala Mhigo something that is almost _hope_ \- are evaporating faster than water at midday. Nevermind that he fought an Amalj’aa and lived. His being carried to camp by that damned Miqo’te woman, tied up and gagged like some sort of _animal_ , will be his legacy.

Sensing his dejection, Lyse pats his shoulder and orders him to get some rest. Holding up a piece of paper that he recognizes as the one that idiot Flame soldier had written his instructions on, she smirks; a frightening expression on the normally cheerful woman. “You deserve it for bringing us something interesting. Now I just need to follow up on it!”

He’s _almost_ curious about her words, about the apparent message that was delivered with him, but the arrival of Bertliana distracts him. All worries of impressing Lyse Hext disappear at the sight of his friend, as does his dignity. Gathering his weapon and pack, he is up and running just as Lia spots him.

“You! Running only makes it worse, you witless bastard!”

With the laughter of the others chase his footsteps as surely as Lia does, and he nearly wishes the damned Amalj’aa had kept him.

_‘I hate my life!’_

**56\. Danger**

_‘South.’_

_Waves, crashing against the dock. Seagulls, calling to each other. Boats, dotting the ocean._

_‘South.’_

_A market, lively with business. A building, unassuming in appearance. A blonde woman, standing behind a desk._

_‘South.’_

_She glances back at him._

_“And who is this?”_

He opens his eyes, and is greeted by the familiar sight of a tent interior, though it isn’t _his_ tent. It’s much better quality, and the bedroll he is on is softer than any _bed_ he has used in his life.

“South,” he mutters, thinking of the dream. It isn’t the first time he’s had that strange dream, but taking in his strange surroundings, his aches, and the lack of people, he curses it. “Not bloody likely. Gotten me in enough trouble, you have.”

He doesn’t know who or what he’s talking to, or if he hasn’t just lost his mind, but it makes him feel better either way. It was by following the suggestions of the dream that he wound up lost in the Shroud. Closing his eyes again, he is about to doze off when the tent flap is pushed aside. A tell Elezen woman with silver hair peaks in, grinning when she notices him.

“Ah! Awake now, are you? You had us worried there, what with being literally thrown at us and all.”

He blinks slowly. “...What?”

“Now your clothes were a lost cause. We had to destroy them, so I hope they didn’t have any sentimental value. A’aba will be back at any time now with your replacements.”

Wait.

“Your sword was saved, at least. Your shield...not so much. I assume it was a shield, anyway. There wasn’t anything left but splinters, which we _did_ manage to pull out of your arm. Lucky for you we have a healer in the group.”

What?

“For now, just focus on resting. Once A’aba gets back, you’ll have your bounty, too. I figure it’ll be more than enough to cover new gear. Better gear, even. No more hunting with scraps for armour, you understand?”

Overwhelmed, he stares at the strange woman who is saying so many strangely nice but _confusing_ things and asks, “What are you talking about? What bounty? Who _are_ you? And _where am I_?” His voice takes an embarrassingly high pitch at the last question, which earns him a laugh.

A _laugh_.

He’s offended, but she smiles at him and any anger fizzles away.

“Right, sorry. We’ve spent so long talking about how to take care of you that I got ahead of myself. My name is Aulie. I’m an adventurer, and currently working with a group to hunt down that beast you so kindly, ah, _lured_ to our encampment.”

He has sudden flashes of an ungodly monster with too many tentacles and too many teeth. He’d been hit, he remembers. Hit and thrown into a puddle of water so rancid he’d nearly retched. As if the creature itself hadn’t smelled worse than a thousand dirty alleys combined. Then the damn thing had chased him, but he had been too injured to escape very far. He’d been caught, and, desperate, he lashed out. He doesn’t know what he hit, but it had sure pissed off the creature, and he had been thrown off a cliff for his efforts. He has no memories of anything after that, although _had_ there been some yelling that wasn’t his own?

“That fall would have been deadly in the state you were in, but another of my companions, Yda, managed to, uh, catch you. We made quick work of the beast, and the other Mhigans have gone to clear out its nest. Everyone will be back tonight, barring any unforeseen issues, but don’t feel you have to socialize if you aren’t up to it. We’re just glad you’re alright.”

Troubled as his relationship with Ala Mhigo and its people is, he cannot help but perk up at the mention of fellow countrymen. Rhalgr, after everything he has gone through during his short time in Eorzea, he’ll take comfort from _any_ familiar thing.

Then it hits him that he has been _saved_ by these people, and he hasn’t so much as thanked them. Blushing, he clutches the blanket nervously and clears his throat. “Right. Yes. I. I’m sorry for being so rude. I’m not used to.” To anyone helping. To anyone _caring_. He coughs and looks anywhere but Aulie. “T-thank you. For saving me. And. Everything.”

A hand pats his head and he automatically flinches. Aulie is undeterred, ruffling his hair while _still_ smiling.

“Don’t mention it. Now _rest_.”

It’s night when he wakes up again. There is a campfire roaring, and laughter is shared by those around it. After some light stretching, several minutes of convincing himself to walk out, and even more aborted attempts to do so, he manages to find the courage to join the others. He is noticed instantly, and before he can even think to introduce himself, he is dragged to the fire, handed a plate of food, and given a canteen of alcohol.

They are all friendly and cheerful in a way that is almost overwhelming. Such carefree laughter is rare in Ala Mhigo, where the imperials hide in every corner, waiting for an excuse to kill them. Laughter is kept behind closed doors where families can hide in peace.

_Real_ families, anyway.

Introductions come between bites and sips. His rescuers claim to belong to two different organizations that often work together, which explains their easy camaraderie. Aulie is the sole Elezen of the group. There are two Miqo’te: the aforementioned A’aba -a seeker tia- and a keeper woman named Xomih. Steinar, Eilif, and Amalie are all highlander refugees from Little Ala Mhigo.

And then there’s _her_.

“Yda Hext. I’m with the Scions like Aulie and A’aba, but I help refugees in Little Ala Mhigo when I can.”

He automatically thinks of Curtis Hext, the voice of the old resistance. The man is a legend even twenty years after he -and Ala Mhigo- fell. His is a name that is whispered behind the backs of imperial guards, a story that good parents tell their children at night, and a chant that echoes in the bars late at night.

_“What would it be like,”_ they ask themselves, _“had he lived?”_

As he is considering how rude it would be to ask after her family, _it_ happens. The pain starts in his head, a strange throbbing that is both physical and mental. His vision blinks, the world fades, and then he is standing in a room ( _Lyse in her arms and tears in her eyes and Rhalgr no_ please _no not you mother please don’t leave us goddamn the king and his corpse brigade!_ ) then slashing through enemy after enemy on a battlefield ( _everything hurts and she’s covered in blood but she can’t stop can’t give up father is still fighting and they have to get back to Lyse no matter what she_ will _get back to her family no matter how many of the king’s butchers stand in her way_ ) then stumbling through the Lochs ( _he’s gone their home is gone their country is lost_ she _is lost what is she going to do how are they going to live how is she going to take care of Lyse gods_ she has to protect Lyse _or else she’ll have nothing left at all!_

_Help._

_Someone._

_Please._

_She can’t do this alone.)_

He blinks and he’s in front of the campfire again, tears in his eyes and body shaking so hard that only Aulie’s arm is holding him upright. The only ones around are Yda and A’aba, who are sitting across from them.

“Of all the people here, your Echo _would_ activate with me,” Yda says wryly. She shakes her head and smiles mirthlessly. “I’m sorry for whatever of my past you saw.”

Rhalgr, it _hurts_. He’s had moments lately where he thought he was dreaming, or hallucinating, or _something_ , but nothing like this. _Years_ of pain, heartache, and fear were compressed into the short time that he intruded in her mind, and he doesn’t know how to handle it. Never has he had a family that he cared for, but tearing at his heart is the weight of losing not one but _two_ loving parents. Never has he had a sibling, but the fear of being too weak to protect one - _her_ \- refuses to fade. Never has he truly loved Ala Mhigo, but the pain of watching it fall sparks anger so deep he can hardly think.

His stomach turns from too many emotions and too many memories that aren’t his, and he can’t help but curl tighter against Aulie. Part of him expects her to push him away, but she merely tightens her hold and allows him to take comfort from her presence.

“You aren’t. Why aren’t you surprised?” he chokes out through the tears.

If it weren’t for the sad smile on Yda’s face, she would look intimidating with the way she is sitting with an ankle on her knee, her body leaning forward as she watches him. She shrugs at his question and rests her cheek against her closed fist. “The organization we work for, the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, is led by someone with a power like yours. She has spent years helping people who develop the Echo. None of us here have it, so you’ll need to come with us if you want to know more. You aren’t going crazy, though, if that’s something you were worried about.”

His laughter is a painful thing. Crazy? He has intruded on her memories, her emotions, has seen and felt things so private that she ought to be shunning him. She _ought_ to be angry or disgusted, but here she sits, watching him with concern in her eyes and compassion in her smile.

“Do I have a choice?” he asks numbly.

“...You always have a choice, Arenvald.”

Memories of abuse suffered at his mother’s hands, of beatings by imperial guards before he learned to steal properly, and of cold looks from those who knew of his dirty blood flash through his mind. His whole life has been a series of choices between bad things and death. Steal or die. Run or die. Fight or die. And now they tell him that he must go to Thanalan. Or else what? He goes insane? Is that worse or better than death?

Something smacks the back of his head, shaking him from his increasingly dark thoughts.

“Minfilia isn’t one to fear. Not by a long shot. If you’ve no direction, the Scions is a good place to start, even if you’ve no intention of staying,” Aulie says, smiling as if she hasn’t just hit him. “But you needn’t make your decision now. It’s late, and you’ve a lot to recover from.”

Too tired to argue, he allows Aulie to help him back to the tent that he apparently shares with Eilif. Sleeping around strangers has always made him nervous, but after the day he’s had, he falls asleep before he can properly crawl under the blanket.

And for the first time in a moon, his dreams are free of a strange voice calling him south.

**57\. Sacrifice**

Ashaht takes in the sight of Aleport with a heavy heart. Much like the rest of Eorzea, it is half destroyed; blood streaked rubble, and smoking ruins nearly all that is left of a once lively port. The battle that had been waged here last sennight was costly.

And _she_ is here to determine just what that cost was.

A crew of ten soldiers await her as her boat docks. They are ragged and bloodstained, weapons chipped, snapped, or gone entirely. Their clothes are stiff with blood; theirs or the enemy’s she cannot tell. Some wear their uniforms, but most of them are in ill-fitting shirts and pants.

Civilians linger further on, waiting for news or for supplies.

They’ll be disappointed in either case.

‘ _Something is missing_.’

She waves at the soldiers before they can salute. There’s no point to it. Not right now.

‘ _Where_.’

The report is as she expects. The dock is a wreck. The supplies are nearly gone. There are more injured than able-bodied. The aetheryte was damaged. Voidsent wrecked what Kobolds didn’t.

But.

‘ _Where is she?_ ’

“The adventurer that was here, the Spirit one with the griffin. Where…?”

The sergeant, a former pirate that once sailed with the Admiral, clenches his jaw and looks at the ground.

‘ _No.’_

She knows that look, knows the defeat in his eyes and the loss that twists his lips. But it can’t be. _It can’t be_. Lyse is one of the strongest people she knows. Her equal. Her friend. Her lover. Her _family_.

“She...saved our lives several times over. But. She was lost in the final attack. The creature with the gaping maw… There was nothing left of them.”

_‘Oh Lyse. Oh Vochstein.’_

“...I see.”

It hurts.

_“Lyse Hext! Nice to meet you!”_

“I’m sorry.”

This can’t be happening.

_“Wow, you’re really strong! Let’s go for round two then!”_

“Did she. Did she die in vain?”

Why did it have to be her?

_“Everything's better when you’re around, Ashaht.”_

“...No. We’d all be dead if it weren’t for her.”

Why did that _idiot_ have to go and die before her?

_“No matter what path you choose, or what path I choose, I will always consider you one of my best friends. Nothing will ever change that.”_

“That’s what matters, then.”

_How is she going to tell her family?_

**58\. Kick in the Head**

Almost a full decade after starting her free company, Hahette can say without hesitation that she is proud of how her friends turned family have grown.

Avaldr started as a poor adventurer that threatened to turn bandit if that’s what it took to take care of his siblings. Joining her then fledgling free company was the slow start of his turning over a new leaf that led to meeting Hinden -who he later married- buying a new house for his siblings, and then taking in _other_ orphans. Once quick to insult and slow to trust, the man has truly settled. He is patient with the children, protective of his fellow company members, and rarely allows himself to be riled up. Tragzhirn, someone he once enjoyed taunting, is now an uncle to most of his orphans, and will be the godfather to the child Hinden is carrying.

Tragzhirn was an eternal drifter with no interest in settling down. He had no roots, no home, nothing to live for, aside from his sister and the thrill of a fight. The Calamity, and the loss of half their company members, changed him. He spent more time in Limsa than any of them, rebuilding from dawn until dusk, then spending his nights watching over the many displaced orphans with the help of Ava’s family and other locals. When she started taking on the disillusioned Mhigans, he immediately took them under his wing. Now, he spends half his time at Ava’s orphanage, and the other half in Little Ala Mhigo, and proudly claims both to be his home.

Miheone was quick to take offense and quicker to start a fight. Once rash, prideful, and intent on enjoying life’s simple pleasures of alcohol, food, and sex -if not to the extent that she herself did- her eventual co-leader has certainly matured over the years. The responsibilities she placed upon her served to temper some of her rashness -most notably putting her in charge of the explosive duo that was Lyse and R’ashaht- with time and loss doing the rest. She is now more interested in running her half of the company than partying; her weekly card tournaments are the only nights she drinks these days. Miheone is and always will be an incorrigible flirt, of course, but she has a fulfilling, _loving_ relationship with Ivoix and Minfilia.

And Lyse. Gods. That once skinny brat too shy yet too eager, never pacing herself and always pushing herself harder and harder and harder until she collapsed. No sense of self-preservation, that one, always comparing herself to Yda’s shadow and her father’s ghost. Any and every mission was fair game, and the inevitable failures weighed on her, drove to train to impossible standards. Were it not for Y’shtola’s tempering presence, she isn’t sure how Lyse would have survived so long. As it is, she has the most near death experiences in the whole company; nearly all because she refused to ask for help.

Lyse now is...somewhat improved. She is still far too eager to train to her limits, and still reluctant to seek help if she thinks it will burden others, but she is learning to delegate with her crew of adventurers, and no longer does she measure herself against Yda and Curtis Hext. Lyse was always a good, reliable kid, and she has grown to be a strong, inspiring woman.

But. Well. There’s one thing that _hasn’t_ changed: teenage Lyse had a huge crush on Y’shtola Rhul, and grown woman Lyse is _madly in love_ with Y’shtola Rhul.

“I still can’t believe it!”

“I can.”

“She _loves_ me!”

“I’m aware.”

“Like really loves me! As a mate!”

“She has for _five years_.”

“She’s so perfect, Hahette!”

“For the love of.”

“I never imagined that she could love me!”

“That makes you literally the only person in Eorzea.”

“I feel like I’m in a dream!”

“Oh, _I can make that happen_.”

Before she can make good on her threat, the door opens and Miheone walks in. She nearly sends a prayer to the gods for the interruption. There’s only so much of Lyse’s gushing that she can take when they have piles of work to get done before the night is over.

Miheone takes one look at them -Lyse practically glowing from happiness, and her a breath away from murder- raises an eyebrow, and opens her mouth to ask what happened.

“Y’shtola loves me!” Lyse blurts out before Miheone can make a single noise. “Like, loves loves me!”

“....Oh,” she says, taken aback at the abrupt confession. “It’s about damned time. You’re several years past my bet, I hope you know.”

“Can you believe it?! _She loves me_.”

“...I did just say I had a bet.”

She gives her co-leader a longsuffering look and a silent ‘ _see what I’ve been dealing with?_ ’

“Is this how you felt when Minfilia confessed?”

If she had any hope of their meeting getting back on track and being productive, it is lost at the mention of Minfilia, because Miheone immediately brightens at the opportunity to gush about her lover. Throwing her arm around Lyse’s shoulder, she laughs and says, “Damn right. Amazing, isn’t it?”

‘ _Isn’t she supposed to be the stern one?!’_

“It’s more than amazing! It’s-”

“Unbelievable.”

“Breathtaking!”

“The best kind of dream!”

Dropping her head on her desk, she covers it with her arms and growls into the papers she is _supposed_ to be reviewing with them.

‘ _Twelve take these saps! It’s going to be a long night_.’

**59\. No Way Out**

There is a menace skulking about their house.

At first, she thought herself imagining things. Misplacing items after a long day of studying, or the children “borrowing” things to work on whatever project they got into their minds to attempt are quite frequent occurrences. A quill here, a sock there, and gloves are the most frequent victims. Nothing too alarming.

It is the wanton destruction of her belongings that she cannot abide. Clothes ripped, laces chewed through, curtains shredded. Socks, gloves, and quills are simple to replace.

Custom ordered jackets dual-layered for warmth and durability that also boast an inordinate amount of pockets for carrying potions, scrolls, and tools _are not_.

As death as a punishment has been forbidden, she has no choice but to rely on the Miqo’te hunting instincts that she so rarely uses. It took little effort to block off any exits, and freezing traps were placed in strategic spots. The offender will have nowhere to run.

All she must do is _catch_ the furry little bastard.

And lucky for her, she has caught him red-handed.

Fang stares at her unblinking, a sock in his mouth and crouched in preparation of fleeing.

It is a showdown she cannot lose.

His tail twitches.

Her tail twitches.

His eyes narrow.

Her eyes narrow.

He bolts.

She frantically attempts to keep up.

The cat is more nimble than she expects. He bounces against the walls to change direction, leaps onto her bed without slowing down, and neatly _avoids her freezing trap_ by jumping against the door frame and using it to launch himself over it. The chase leads downstairs to the living room.

It’s fine, though. There is no escape here either.

Then the front door opens, and Fang, ever the opportunist, abruptly changes direction to head for the exit.

“No! Grab him!”

Lyse falters, standing dumbly _with the door wide open_ as Fang races to her.

“Huh?”

Fang leaps.

“Ahk!”

And firmly sticks to Lyse’s leg, clambering up to her shoulder while she yells her protests.

Wincing in pain from the sharp claws that dug into her skin, Lyse waits for the cat to calm down before gently detaching him from her shirt and holding him properly. “Geez, what kind of welcome is that? I missed you too, Fang.”

Fang settles in her arms, places the sock on the crook of her elbow, and meows.

“That. Demon,” she snarls.

“Be nice, Mhitra. He brought me a present!”

“That’s _my_ sock!”

“It’s the thought that counts.”

“He’s a thief!”

Lyse stares at her incredulously.

“...Have you slept in the last two days?”

She has not, actually, but that isn’t the point.

“If I make you some food, will you calm down?”

“No,” she grunts. Food will not fix her jacket. Food will not bring back her socks. Food will not replace her poor shredded pillow.

“...I’m making some anyway. Please don’t terrorize the animals where the children can see.”

“I want sandwiches.”

“...Okay.”

Glaring at Fang as Lyse walks to the kitchen, she mentally swears to keep a permanent watch on the destructive animal.

Fang, glaring right back, meows.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll get you some food too. Were you fed at all while I was gone?”

“Meow.”

“It knows how to hunt,” she says unsympathetically.

“Mhitra! He has to be _outside_ in order to hunt!”

Oh...whoops.

**60\. Rejection**

Miheone is pouting.

Oh she tries to deny it, but Ivoix has been her lover for years now, and he likes to think that he knows her well by this point. Sex aside, they are best friends, and he has seen her at her best and worst.

This...is something different.

“Aren’t you used to rejection at this point?”

Miheone scowls at him. “I wasn’t flirting! We were in Limsa! Who goes to Limsa and _doesn’t_ want to dine in the city? We had gone the entire morning without food, at that!”

He shrugs, but admits that she has a point. Eating out in Limsa Lominsa is simply what people _do_ there. “Perhaps Minfilia is too jaded where your flirting is concerned?” he suggests weakly.

Neither of them believe his words, but Miheone needs to prepare for a meeting, leaving them with no chance to discuss Minfilia’s strange behavior. He takes his time making the short walk to the Waking Sands, enjoying the pleasant weather and lively crowd. Maritime trade quickly recovered from the Calamity, and Vesper’s Bay sees more traffic than ever before as a result.

The Scions, too, have settled and grown. The official Scions have recruited many skilled adventurers, and have earned the trust of the three grand companies. The _unofficial_ Scions, Minfilia and Yda’s pet project, have earned themselves quite a reputation in the few moons that they have been active. Being that most of their recruits are refugees trained by the Hext sisters, General Aldynn has been quite keen to give them work, so although Yda leads the secret branch of Scions, Minfilia’s workload grows by the day.

‘ _Perhaps I will approach her about shifting some of that workload to myself,_ ’ he thinks idly. Though he has been the Scion’s messenger between Vesper’s Bay and Sharlayan since the Scion’s founding, he would not mind switching jobs. Y’shtola has spoken of increasing contact with Camp Dragonhead and those of the Observatory, and he doesn’t think Wawakuma or Papalymo are willing to endure the cold temperatures of Coerthas.

By the time he finds Minfilia in the common area, he has already made up his mind.

“Working through lunch?” he asks as he takes the seat across from hers.

Minfilia graces him with a tired smile. “Always. Whenever I complete one pile, two more appear.”

“Miheone often complains about the same phenomenon.” He is unsurprised to note how his leader imperceptibly flinches when he mentions Miheone. “And it is why I wished to speak to you.”

A slight inclination of his head is all it takes to convince her to move their conversation into the solar. Of the Scions, only Yda, Y’shtola, Papalymo, and himself are privy to the full extent of her work. With their ever-growing numbers and requests, none think twice about Minfilia’s amount of paperwork, or notice that Yda hasn’t taken a proper mission in some moons.

In the safety of the solar, he outlines his proposal and the reasoning behind it. The more he speaks of it, the more he believes in it himself; Wawakuma has been itching to start some new projects that will require the expertise of Sharlayan Archons, and Thancred is perfectly capable of handling Ul’dah alone. Given Ishgard’s rejection of foreigners, he will have an easier time gaining trust with his obvious Elezen blood.

The offer is tentatively accepted. They must first acquire Wawakuma’s permission to proceed, but he doubts there will be a problem.

Of course, he has more than one topic that he wishes to discuss with Minfilia, and now that her guard is down, he can move on to the second conversation.

“Minfilia, is something other than work weighing on you?” he asks after a moment of silence. When she frowns in confusion, he continues, “Miheone is”- _pouting, upset, confused_ \- “worried. You have not been yourself.”

Watching her expression shift to alarm, fear, chagrin, then embarrassment is enlightening. Minfilia has flourished due to Miheone’s friendship and mentoring, that much is true. She is far more confident and at ease in her role as Antecedent now than when she first brought them together. Emotionally, however, the woman has very little experience with relationships, and there are few people she can rely on for advice in such matters.

So, the alarm because he noticed that her emotions and troubles are affecting her. No doubt she thought herself hiding them well.

Fear, because he brought it up. Their relationship is not so close that they speak of their emotions to each other. Despite being his junior by two years, she is his employer, and he an employee; there are boundaries that they must observe out of professional interest.

Chagrin, for she is aware that her behavior is unwarranted, no matter her reasons. This is a good sign; if Minfilia is at least aware of this fact, it will make the conversation smoother.

Embarrassment? Now that can have multiple reasons. Is she embarrassed about her affection for Miheone, or because he -Miheone’s lover- is bringing up the issue? Either way, this state of things should not be allowed to continue.

“So you are not as unaffected by Miheone’s flirting as she believes.”

“Ivoix!”

“We’ve finished business,” he sings, grinning unrepentantly in the face of her horror. Leaning back into the chair, he crosses his arms and nods. 

“Now as you know, Miheone prefers open relationships.”

Minfilia whimpers and hides her red face behind her hands. “ _However_ , those relationships have always been casual. If faithfulness is a desire, then you need only speak with her.”

“Ivoix,” Minfilia begs. “ _Please_.”

“She does love you, you know. As she loves me.”

She gives him a despairing look, and he realizes that not only is she aware of that information, it is why she is so hesitant. Minfilia is his leader, but also his _friend_ , and she is unwilling to cause him distress.

Considerate of her, but misguided.

“Minfilia. Do you object to my relationship with Miheone?”

“Of course not!” she protests immediately.

“And I do not object to you starting your own with her. We both love her, and she loves us both.” He lets those words sink in while he recalls Miheone’s schedule. “Now she has a free evening in three days, _but_ as she has a business meeting in Black Brush early the next morning, our best bet will be the evening six days from now.”

“Best...bet?”

“Lyse knows someone who can make last minute reservations to The Island,” he says, referring to one of the more popular restaurants in Limsa. The best part about asking a favor from Lyse is that she never questions _why_ that favor is needed.

He may tell her anyway, as she will be quite excited about the development.

“We ought to go shopping for an outfit for the occasion. You’ve not had the time or inclination to do so in well over a year.”

“Are. _Are you planning my date for me_?”

“Well if I leave it up to _you_ , it’ll be moons before anything happens! Now are you free tonight? Do you wish to make a trip to Ul’dah or Limsa? Perhaps we should ask Y’shtola-”

“Let’s keep this between us. _Please_.”

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I know, it's not a full story, but in my defense, this is helping me plan the eventual foray into, you know, rewriting ARR. It seems like Minfilia is suddenly eager to play a large part in this, so it's already helping me!
> 
> If you're curious about anything, feel free to drop a dm on Twitter!


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